


Red Flags

by Nisushi



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Activism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dining clubs, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Rehabilitation, Sharehouse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisushi/pseuds/Nisushi
Summary: When Combeferre and Courfeyrac have to work out their own problems, Enjolras tends to seek out the still questionable Grantaire, who came to live with them only a couple of weeks ago. A story of break-ups and lovers, until the fall of the Sharehouse.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Feuilly/Jean Prouvaire, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1. Plump Baby Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Here, Barricade day has dawned upon us! This is my contribution for this year, and will be my contribution for the rest of the time that it will take me to finish this story. So, welcome! 
> 
> Also, with everything that is happening around us as of now, I think it's important to use the airtime Les Mis gets once a year to promote the BLM movement even more. In the end notes I've got some lists for POC artists of various media that you can check out, and the Tab for a Cause master post where you can help donate through advertisements. I think these are really important (with all the education and donation sites), but since not everyone is in the most stable financial situation right now, I want to promote these two to help other artists as well. 
> 
> Enjoy!   
> -N
> 
> P.S. I'm looking for a beta, so if you're interested, you can message me here or on my tumblr (@nisushi) :)

Enjolras was staring at the three boxes, the worn backpack Combeferre had had since eleven, and the heap of various objects that didn’t have boxes to move them in. They were put in the corner opposite from his own single bed, and waiting to be unpacked. The owner just happened to be busy with figuring out the instructions of his Ikea bed at the moment. The groans and occasional swearing told Enjolras that it was going to take some time before he would have his floor empty again.

“You know, we should just ask Courfeyrac to help with this.” Enjolras couldn’t help but smirk at the momentary silence from the other side of the room. He turned his head from where he was lying on his bed, and saw a squatted down Combeferre with his shoulders slumped down. “Come on. You are a genius, but you’re shit at reading manuals. I am shit at them. Courf is not.” He perked up his eyebrows to emphasize the hinting. Combeferre sighed and twisted on his toes.

“Should I ask you where all your sympathy went or just conclude that you’ve never known such a thing?”

“Ouch.”

Combeferre shrugged, and turned back to look at the white planks of the bed. “If you would just help me with this… this _stupid_ bed, I can make dinner for you before midnight.”

“Because two people who are shit at something is better than one who actually understands-”

“Just let me be, okay? God.” After some time, the soft swearing continued. Enjolras went to sit next to his friend. They were now blatantly staring at the planks together. Progress was made.

“I’m sorry, Enj. It’s unfair of me to lash out on you.”

Enjolras petted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I should be more sensitive towards my mourning friends.”

Combeferre snorted. “Still, sorry for being a dickhead. You didn’t ask for this either.” He gestured vaguely towards the boxes. “I guess I’m still in my… what’s the opposite of honeymoon period?”

Enjolras pursed his lips, as if deep in thought. “You’re just heartbroken?”

“No, you just make it all sound so icky. Makes me want to shower.” His face scrunched up by the idea of even having to say that he is utterly devastated. Enjolras took pity in him.

“Go shower, you big boy. I will figure this out.” Combeferre looked hesitant, then looked at the mess before them and decided that he was done with this. “Fine, then.” He stood up with a groan, his knees popping from the brooding he had done in that position. He grabbed the old bagpack, and took out his towel. “Mind if I borrow your shampoo for now? I used to share mine with Courf, so…” He smiled apologetically, and Enjolras waved him off. His friend was heartbroken: he could miss a little shampoo.

When Combeferre had dashed out of the room, Enjolras turned to the bed again. The manual was left open on page one, and he pinched his nose. He had no idea what he was doing, and he knew it was bad for Combeferre’s healing to ask Courfeyrac to help. In the worst case, they would have to spoon together in his small bed tonight.

“How are you dealing?” Enjolras jumped up from the sudden question. His heart was thumping and he looked around to see who had scared him out of his focus. Against his doorframe, Grantaire was leaning with his arms crossed and showing an amused smile. Enjolras had to try his best not to show his annoyance.

“Please consider knocking the next time you’re going to scare me to death.”

Grantaire held up his hands in defence and walked back to the hallway. Before Enjolras could continue to stare at the bed parts, he heard knocking on his door. Grantaire was popping his head around the corner with a questioning look. Enjolras let him in without words rather reluctantly.

Grantaire took a place in the middle of the room, looking around with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Where is the other Musketeer?” he asked at last.

Enjolras went back to the manual with the thought in mind that the other would be leaving soon. “If you mean Combeferre, I sent him away to cleanse his soul in the shower. The bed-building was getting to him.” It was also getting to himself, but he wouldn’t show weakness to that bed.

Grantaire hummed, and sat down next to him. Enjolras distantly smelled sweat on him. He could have been working out, just gotten back from wherever he spent his time working out. Enjolras didn’t know a lot about Grantaire yet. Neither did he know if he wanted to, as the guy had been nothing but a question to him in the couple of weeks he had been living here. People who were a question tended to wear him out. And he was a menace sometimes, teasing him to no end at every wrong moment. But then Grantaire was all laughs and fun too, a real joy to have in the living room and at the kitchen table. Really curious, this guy. 

“You need help with getting this thing set up before like, next week?”

Enjolras looked up, still frowning from the unhelpful manual. “Why would you think I need any help?” It came out harsher than he had wanted. _“Accept people the way they come”_ was what Combeferre always said and would say if he was still here. He wasn’t however, and Enjolras had been getting as tired of this as the heartbreak-boy himself .

Grantaire didn’t seem offended at least. “I haven’t seen you do anything with all this stuff, and you don’t look like someone who likes to procrastinate.”

“How long have you been looking at me doing nothing?” As Enjolras already said, he didn’t yet know what to think of their new addition. Jehan had been alright moving into their share house, immediately fitting in with him, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre. Grantaire was just this piece hanging loosely on their group. Maybe it was Enjolras, as the guy could get along with the others. It frustrated Enjolras to no end.

“I was only standing there for a moment. I came by to ask about Combeferre actually. How is he?” Grantaire took the manual into his hands, and flipped through all the pages. Enjolras gave up and let him do his thing. He didn’t even know what Grantaire’s level of understanding Ikea was. For all he knew they would be sitting in the same position by the time Combeferre came back.

“He needs time. They only broke up yesterday, you know.” A constant faith that had been hanging over the two since they came into this relationship if you asked Enjolras. It was the wrong time to nag them with his ‘I said so’, but he had, in fact, said so. Only had he almost let go of that when they got to the two years mark. Add three months and that was it for them apparently.

“I wish it would have gone more… peacefully.” Enjolras cringed when he thought back of the screaming match from yesterday evening. He was sure they would eventually talk it out: they were friends. The day of resolution could not come quick enough however. Enjolras only had one day behind with dwelling over the choice between the two, and he was so done with it already.

“Didn’t they just sound like us, yeah?” Enjolras scowled at the chuckle.

“It wasn’t. They’ve been friends for a long time. We’re total strangers. I wouldn’t even know what words would hurt you.”

“I guess you’re right there.” Grantaire ripped open one of the little plastic bags that held those wooden bolts inside. “Help me with the first step? I think we can have this done in half an hour.”

Enjolras huffed. “Weren’t you the one who was helping _me_?” he murmured, but did follow Grantaire’s orders.

When Combeferre came back, freshly showered and clad in only his sweats. He stopped by the door when he noticed Grantaire’s presence. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Making friends Enjolras?”

“And I didn’t know you had _abs_! Because, God Jesus shit Combeferre.”

Combeferre laughed and shook his head, walking up to the boxes to take out a shirt. “There are so many things you don’t know about me, Grantaire.”

“Why bother putting everything in boxes if I may ask? You only lived on the other side of the hallway just the day before.”

“It’s because he wanted to be dramatic,” Enjolras answered in Combeferre’s place, getting a glare back for it. His friend even punched him a little when he squatted down again beside him.

“Back to the practical subjects. I see you came far with the bed without me.” Grantaire grinned, and had the right to do so. They had the frame standing, and all Enjolras had done was handing Grantaire all different kinds of screws and such, and sometimes holding planks up.

“You know we wouldn’t have had to go through this trouble if you had just gotten a box spring?” They still needed to make the foundation, and Enjolras was getting hungry.

“The more I can thank you now.” Combeferre ruffled Enjolras’ hair, then stood up. Enjolras couldn’t say he didn’t notice him briefly glancing over to the other side of the hall.

“I’m going to make dinner for us, since you too work so fine together.”

Grantaire gave him wink and shouted after him. “It won’t be as fun without you!”

“Stop low-key flirting with my friend.”

“What? Does it make you uncomfortable?” Grantaire wiggled his eyebrows. This was exactly what his problem was with Grantaire. His ability to take anything serious was so low that Enjolras sometimes had the urge to slap it up. Or slap his face.

“He just got out of a very-serious relationship. Why tease him with it?”

Grantaire looked at him as if he wasn’t sure what he was unto. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you or Combeferre. Just trying to cheer him up, alright?”

Enjolras nodded, and waited for the next instructions. They were so tense, and it exhausted him. He was relieved when they put down the foundation into the bed frame exactly on time for when Combeferre was calling for them. There was only one problem.

“Fuck.” Enjolras slapped his forehead. “We forgot to be a mattress.”

Grantaire seemed to find that very funny, as he almost fell onto the ground laughing. It made Enjolras ball up his fists. “It’s not funny! We did all this for _nothing_.”

“Oh, calm down. Ferre can still cuddle with me if he really has no other place.” Enjolras scrunched up his nose, and walked out to the hallway. “No, thank you.”

On the ground floor of this house, there was a kitchen and a spacious room. The whole household now existed of seven people. Once, it was only Coureyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras. A far aunt of Courfeyrac had left it to him after she passed away. “What can I say, I’m a likeable person. Sugar daddies would want to overthrow me with this kind of stuff,” was what Enjolras had heard him say once. It was a nice house for London. Old, but not in the state of unliveable, which was against all the odds when Enjolras had heard Courfeyrac chatter about how his aunt or anyone hadn’t touched it for years. The garden had been a jungle and the wooden fences were still rotting away, but all in all a very nice house.

Later there was Jehan, then Eponine and Cosette, and when Combeferre left his room to share with Courfeyrac, there was a place for Grantaire to take the free room. Now, this was a problem. They couldn’t ask Grantaire to leave so Combeferre could move back into his old room, but there was no way Combeferre or Courfeyrac were happy to keep sharing a bed.

And so they, Combeferre and Enjolras, had to make an emergency visit to Ikea this morning to buy a bed. Amongst all the emotions, they had forgotten about the mattress. Everything was okay, Enjolras told himself while they descended down the stairs to the living room. Everything was okay as long as his two friends got their space to cry it out. He was still waiting for Combeferre to do so.

“Someone, please set up the table.” Grantaire darted towards the dark shelf they had standing behind the dinner table, while Enjolras made his way to Combeferre in their kitchen. “The girls aren’t going to eat with us?” Combeferre shook his head. “I messaged Cosette. They were in need of a girl’s night at JBM’s after, and I quote, an ‘overwhelming change in auras within this house’.”

“That’s something that could have come out of Jehan’s mouth.”

“He didn’t disappoint. He is now out with Courfeyrac to have a spa day for the same reason.” Combeferre bit his lip after mentioning it himself. There was no way around it that the group had to be split up for a while.

“Well, more food for us.” Enjolras desperately tried to change the subject. “Grantaire! How hungry are you?” The shout went through the wall opening. Grantaire gave his thumps up. “No problems at all.”

Combeferre’s glasses fogged over when he let the cooking water seep out of the pan into the sink. And with that, Enjolras realised Combeferre just seemed too unbothered.

“Hey, can I open the wine from your shelf Ferre?” Grantaire held up a green bottle. Combeferre only had wine on his shelf for special occasions, or he bought it and then saved it for the special occasion. Apparently, this was one because Combeferre nodded before taking the pots and pans to the dinner table.

“I haven’t had a real meal since… I don’t even know when the last time was when I’ve eaten of a legit plate?” Grantaire sat down, hopefully contemplating his lack of self-care. Enjolras once again found himself asking _What is this guy?_

Combeferre only let him go with one questioning look. “Well, enjoy then.”

“Surely I will!” And Grantaire dug in. Enjolras sat next to his Ikea-partner, and side-eyed him quickly before starting himself. It was a couple of weeks ago that Jehan brought up his friend who was in need of new housing, and that this friend would fit perfectly into their household. The reason why this friend, Grantaire, had lost previous housing was still a question to be answered. Since Combeferre had moved into Courfeyrac’s room a month before that, there was a room free to be filled. God, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had only lived with each other for two months.

“It’s good Ferre!” The overenthusiasm interrupted his train of thought. Combeferre nodded his thanks, and the train continued. Enjolras knew only a few things about Grantaire. He was in junior year of his History major. He minored in Arts. He hung out with Jehan’s Language major friends a lot. Sometimes, he was just not… there. Actually, most of the time he was not here, and there was where his knowledge about this person ended. Grantaire was not here, and made it impossible to make acquaintance with him. Enjolras used to think that this was part of his persona, that he wanted to keep his secrets for himself as some sort of lone wolf-wannabe. It turned out that, even though this guy was never home, Grantaire managed to become everyone’s best friend within these weeks. Except for Enjolras. Hence the thought of him wanting to play the mystery man.

It was at the end of dinner that they heard the front door opening. There was a pause before Jehan announcement that they were home echoed through the hallway. He came into view, standing in the corridor and observing what they were eating.

“There’s still some left if you want to,” Combeferre offered. Jehan shook his head. “We’ve had our fill already.” He looked vaguely at the hallway. Grantaire’s hands flew forward to take the last portion. How long had this guy not eaten?

“Where’s Courf?” Enjolras asked instead. The fast steps up the stairs answered before Jehan could. “Sorry darling.” Jehan smiled apologetically. It could have been to Combeferre or Enjolras, or both.

Enjolras had to tell himself that this was fine. This was normal behaviour, and Enjolras had already expected the tension between his two best friends to be done overnight. He reckoned it a couple more days. Max.

The frown on Combeferre’s face was hard to forget, however. It was the greatest emotion he had shown since yesterday.

Jehan’s phone pinged loudly, only interrupting the scraping of forks against the plates, and he turned around for some idea of privacy. Enjolras felt Grantaire sneaking short glances towards him. In front of him, there was Combeferre hunching over his empty plate. And Enjolras was thinking how this was worse than that time his cousin had said no to her fiancée at the altar. Courfeyrac wasn’t even there. He keeled from imagining how it was going to be when he _would_ be there.

“R, we’ve been summoned,” Jehan grinned at last, apparently having said enough for Grantaire to stuff the last pasta inside his mouth and to stand up. Without another word, he took his dishes to the kitchen with a slight skip in his steps. Enjolras understood. He would be happy too if he got a reason to leave this place. But Combeferre.

Jehan had gone to the hallway and returned with his own jacket half shrugged on and with Grantaire’s leather one in his hand. “Where’re you going?” Enjolras asked with feigned disinterest.

“People from the poetry society-” The rest fell away with all the getting into jackets and turning.

“Aren’t you tired from today?” Which was a silent plea for help. He hated to admit it, but he didn’t want to be alone with Combeferre at the moment. He already had enough from several minutes of table-silence.

Jehan looked at him with the same silent plea, and Enjolras couldn’t do anything but let him go. Grantaire reappeared and took his jacket before pushing Jehan to the hallway. “Don’t miss us too much!” He yelped, and then the door was slammed shut. It was silent again.

Enjolras scratched his arm, then shuffled his fork around in his plate. Sometimes he looked at Combeferre, who just seemed to brooding a lot. Enjolras was too afraid to ask what was going on inside his head. He had his assumptions, but those were bad and he wouldn’t have any idea of how to react to any of those thoughts.

When he was about to escape to the kitchen with his dishes, Combeferre spoke up. “So, you’re ready with the bed?”

“Yeah, kind of. There’s no mattress though.” Enjolras gauged his friend for a reaction. He would rather see some fit from him over the mattress now.

But Combeferre gave nothing, only licked behind his teeth and then decided to finally take away the dishes. “I’ll clean the table,” Enjolras said quickly. He beat Combeferre in getting to the kitchen, took a wet towel to clean the table with, and was halted by Combeferre when he wanted to run back into the living room. He wasn’t brooding anymore: he only looked very tired, standing in the middle of Enjolras’ path with hunched shoulders that took away his height. “Can you maybe share your bed for tonight? I promise that tomorrow I’ll have a mattress fixed-”

Enjolras reassured Combeferre with a hand awkwardly put on his shoulder. “Of course I can. It’ll be like when we were younger.”

Combeferre huffed, and finally there came a small turn-up of his lips. He gave a hand on the shoulder back, shook Enjolras a little bit before walking further into the kitchen. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t the moment to complain about his twin sized bed being too small to hold two, but it was too small to hold two. Enjolras left the sour thought in his head as he stared at Combeferre’s nape. Holding his arms close to his chest and trying to make the minimum of movement, Enjolras had difficulty falling asleep. Combeferre had seemed to have no problem with it, and had already given his first soft snores of sleep right after saying goodnight while he lay there with his neck slowly becoming stiff. The sucker.

Enjolras worried. He couldn’t fall asleep, and so he worried. About not getting sleep, but also for his friend who was sleeping peacefully beside him. And then there was the other friend Enjolras was to-the-point-of-wanting-to-pull-your-hair-out worried about. That was somewhere in the back of his mind, scratching him every now and then. He hadn’t even spoken with Courfeyrac yet.

The clock on the wall was softly ticking, reminding Enjolras of every single second he was wasting on pondering. For ten minutes he was on edge to jump out, go downstairs and start the day at… three in the morning. What kept him in bed was again Combeferre, who found fondness in lecturing Enjolras about healthy sleep patterns. That man would grow grey before the week was over if he also had Enjolras’ health on his plate.

Worry slipped out of his mouth with a sigh, but his heart kept hammering in his chest. It was all so exhausting, but it couldn’t bring him any sleep.

He heard, very faint like it was sitting on the same backseat as Courfeyrac, clumsy stomping on the stairs. He took his hearing from that backseat and focussed on the sounds in the hallway.

Jehan was giggling and shrieked something incomprehensible to- Grantaire? Himself? Then Enjolras heard Grantaire’s snorts. Very typical, and he felt his legs already sliding from under the covers before he could ask why.

Grantaire and Jehan immediately turned around by the sound of the door opening. “Were you talking about me?” Enjolras asked as they both looked a little guilty at the sight of him out of bed.

“Oh no! Just…” Jehan searched for words. “Did we wake you, darling?” He had to support himself against the wall, as he almost slipped down. Grantaire quickly gazed at their friend to see if he was doing okay.

Enjolras pointed vaguely behind him. “No, I couldn’t sleep,” he explained. Jehan swayed from the wall into his arms, hanging on him as his way of support. “Sometimes all I want to do is squeeze your face until all it can do is be happy, mon Ange!” Jehan demonstrated his urge with framing Enjolras’ face with his hands. He caressed him gently, and Enjolras flashed Grantaire an awkward smile. “Had a nice night?”

Grantaire grinned from the reminder of tonight. “It was good enough. Jehan-”

“Can definitely tell the tales! I-” Jehan seemed to realise again that the rest of the house was sleeping. Then he whispered on the loudest level “There was a guitarist with a Spanish bum, mon Ange. He made me fall in love with him, the tragedy!” He hung on Enjolras’ shoulders with all his weight, so Enjolras had to grab him before they were both tumbling on the floor. “He will be gone, out of sight in three days. Back to where he got his bum from!” Jehan cried.

Grantaire sniggered. “He made out a little with our Juan, and now he’s been yelling the whole way back about eloping.”

Jehan scowled at him. “You offensive twat! His name was Javier.” He looked up at Enjolras with devastation. “Tell him, Enj! Tell him that he has a shallow mindset towards other cultures!”

Grantaire crossed his arms and waited for Enjolras to call him out, still with a relaxed smile on his face. Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You’re an ass.” He had asked for it, and to Enjolras’ slight annoyance (no surprise, he was not surprised), Grantaire ate up the light-hearted insult like it was the sweetest thing. His humble smile had grown into a face-crunching smirk. At least Enjolras got Jehan’s hugs as a reward for it. He petted Jehan’s hair. “Looks like you enjoyed yourself, though.”

“Yes! We’re getting a Junky van, Enj!”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes to Grantaire, who clapped his hands and was up with sudden energy.

“Well, look at the time! I’ve gotta bring this flower to bed. Goodnight, Enjo!” Grantaire took Jehan from Enjolras, with his arm under Jehan’s armpits and hauling him towards the stairs that lead to the attic. Now Enjolras noticed Grantaire wasn’t doing all that well himself, stumbling first with the extra weight and almost falling backwards on the first step.

He didn’t want to go back to bed, and would get hell if he _was_ going to start his day now. A small visit to the bathroom showed him his face in the mirror. His eyelids had sunken to the point of falling shut, but still he didn’t feel the sleep coming. He stared at that reflection with wrath for a moment. Maybe he was hallucinating and this was what he would look like if he was really ready for sleep. His mind could be taunting him with the image of unconsciousness. “Damn you,” he grumbled, and turned around to the door.

He walked into Grantaire again in the hallway. “You done taking a piss?” Enjolras took one glance at the man before him. He was overall scruffy, didn’t take care of his looks. His broad shoulders were always slouching, which made him even shorter. He didn’t smell, even though you would think otherwise when you would see him for the first time. Yet he didn’t. His hair was a mess, his clothes were wrinkly and had suspicious stains, his… His fly was open.

“Your fly is open,” Enjolras said. Grantaire seemed so indifferent about the fact that his jeans were almost falling down his knees (The button was open too), that it fit the picture of him perfectly.

“Yeah, I was planning to take a piss, but then I saw that the lights were on and I didn’t want to interrupt your pissing.”

“I wasn’t taking- So you just take off your pants in the middle off the hallway?”

“I was very ready for it.”

Enjolras stood perplexed. This was not a conversation he was having. He had work to do. He stepped away from the bathroom door and held out his arm as a welcome. “Don’t let me spoil it anymore for you, then.”

Grantaire bowed with a mock, still with his jeans threatening to fall down when he started walking. Enjolras grabbed him by the wrist just on time before he was gone. He remembered Jehan and Grantaire from earlier by the awkward way Grantaire had to move. “We’re not really getting a Junky van, are we?”

Grantaire’s eyes disappeared behind his high smile. “Of course not, Apollo. Jehan’s imagining the weirdest shit when he’s had a few.”

Enjolras frowned, and let go of Grantaire. “There you are again.”

“Hmm?”

“You called me Apollo again. What’s with that?”

Looking up to the ceiling, Grantaire pursed his lip as if he hadn’t thought of it. “I say weird shit too when I’m drunk.” Then he shrugged and waved, closing the door softly behind him. _But you’re never under influence_ , Enjolras wanted to argue, but decided it was not worth talking to a closed door. He walked back to his own room, only to open the door very slightly to check on Combeferre and the time. Half past three. Work had to be done.


	2. Puppers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras talks with people, and finds out he's helpless on most ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still searching for a Beta-reader! This is all me kind of reading it over and then letting it be. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“For the last time, you could have thrown me out of your bed! I would have gladly taken the couch.” Combeferre demonstrated the angriest sandwich-making ever, and Enjolras sacked more into his chair at the dinner table he had been sitting in for… he glanced at his phone. For five hours. “I don’t want to be the reason on top of all the other ridiculous reasons why you’re not getting enough sleep.” Combeferre almost threw down his plate on the table and sat across him.

Enjolras turned back to the morning newspaper. “And for the last time, it wasn’t you who kept me awake.” The truth was that it was, but in another way than Combeferre thought. Also, he shouldn’t have to know.

“It’s better that you got the sleep. I don’t have anywhere to go today, anyway.” Combeferre huffed nonetheless. “It’s fine! Really, don’t you have somewhere to be in like, half an hour?” Enjolras defended. “The allegory of the cave and all that, right? You’ll want to be awake for that.”

Combeferre smiled. “Always. Can’t skip out on that one. You take such good care of me.”

The friendly jest felt like an elevation. “See, I know your needs! That’s why I let you sleep in my comfortable bed instead of spending your night on the couch or cuddling with Grantaire. He offered himself,’’ Enjolras added the last bit quickly.

Combeferre let his head sack down at that, rubbing his eyes. At last, Combeferre couldn’t hide his lingering tiredness. “Yeah, I’ve got to get that mattress soon.”

“I can go get one for you today. You’ll have your own bed tonight.”

Combeferre quirked up his eyebrow. “I’d rather you go to bed.”

Knowing better than to tell a lie or the truth about his plans for the day, Enjolras said nothing in return, turning the page of the newspaper to end the conversation. He squinted.

Unfortunately for Enjolras, the subtility didn’t go past Combeferre. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting in the dark reading without your lenses.” How his friendship was a joy, but his disappointment a real stab in the gut. Enjolras cringed and looked at Combeferre with the littlest guilt. “I forgot, and then I remembered but didn’t feel like walking upstairs.”

Under Combeferre’s gaze, Enjolras tried to make himself very small. That man was scary, and shouldn’t be scary right now, as that man should be putting all his emotional energy into grieving. An average heartbreak took six weeks to heal was what google had told him at four in the morning. Yet Combeferre was standing there with his arms crossed, no sliver of sadness but lots of the Disappointed Combeferre mix.

Courfeyrac walked with much extravagance. That left him unable to be unnoticed when he turned up in the kitchen. Combeferre uncrossed his arms, and Enjolras was close to laughing for a moment because Combeferre, clever Combeferre, seemed to be taken so surprised by the idea that Courfeyrac could for a fact enter the kitchen. Courfeyrac kept his place next to the counter carefully, and they were studying each other.

On this Friday morning, Enjolras wanted to squish his face together until it would burst. If only to help him escape this. This as in the muscle-stiffening tension that his two friends were creating in the living room that everyone had the right to use. A very shameful way to dominate an area as well, exactly the reason why expansionism was looked down upon. War was no reason for territory.

 _Should I send them to Courfeyrac’s room_? Enjolras thought, but then Combeferre moved to take his bag, pack his neatly wrapped sandwiches, and turned to Enjolras. “Don’t forget to put your lenses in. And get some sleep.” And he was gone. Just a minute later the door could be heard out off and into its lock again. Very softly.

Courfeyrac was still standing beside the counter, idly tracing the patterns on the top with his fingers. He looked up from under his eyebrows, finding an awaiting Enjolras looking right back at him. “What do you want me to say?” Defensive, but with a pinch of helplessness. Enjolras opened his mouth to say something to Courfeyrac for the first time in two days, then held himself back because he realised this was the first thing he was going to say to Courfeyrac about this whole situation. “There’s nothing I want you to say,” he said carefully. It was meant to be reassuring, but shit was he bad at that. Courfeyrac wasn’t to become hostile towards him, even though he looked this close to that.

“I get it. Man, really,” Courfeyrac inhaled loudly. “Just don’t pretend that you haven’t chosen sides.”

Enjolras jumped up, and stalked with big steps to Courfeyrac. “Hey, don’t say that! Why would you say that?” He took Courfeyrac’s hands and stared intensely at him. He noticed the uneven nails lightly touching his skin. Courfeyrac had been biting them.

Courfeyrac was crumpling from the first thing that came out of Enjolras’ mouth, and it was so much of the other side of the spectrum than Combeferre was on. He took Courfeyrac in his arms, wrapping his arms around his friend too stiffly to be warming. “There, there,” he said while petting Courfeyrac’s hair. He lead him to the table, and set him down on a chair.

Courfeyrac was slumping “I’m so sorry, of course you wouldn’t.” Enjolras nodded as he understood it. Courfeyrac’s downturned face brought out darker shadows than he had ever seen on his friend’s face, and it concerned him. “Hey, look up.” Enjolras brought Courfeyrac’s face up out of his own selfish urges not to look at that face anymore. “You want to watch Clueless, have a little snuggle on your bed?”

Courfeyrac smiled with watery eyes. “I’ve watched that last week, and please don’t ever say ‘snuggle’ again.” 

“Sorry, I’ll hate myself for it okay?” Courfeyrac could still chuckle, and he turned to the ceiling to force the last tears back. “Don’t you have to sleep or something?” It was there, on the tip of his tongue, the comment about how Courfeyrac was just like Combeferre. Enjolras took Courfeyrac upstairs instead.

“This bed is too fucking big now.” Courfeyrac flopped down and curled into himself before Enjolras could close the door. The curtains were still closed, and Courfeyrac lay beside the heap of duvet that he hadn’t made yet. It was all so depressing.

“Of course,” Enjolras murmured as he walked to the windows the open the curtains. What else was he supposed to say when Courfeyrac was very clearly in an emotional tumble of self-pity. There had been two other moments in his time knowing Courfeyrac that Courfeyrac had this immense fallback, and all he whined for then was comfort food and some empathy.

“What do you want to watch then?” Enjolras found Courfeyrac’s laptop on his desk, and unplugged the charger from the wall. He sat next to Courfeyrac while starting up his laptop. “So?”

“Let’s just watch Peppa Pig. I want to get lost in her simplicity until I’m nothing.”

Enjolras stared hard at the screen. “Where do you even watch Peppa?” Courfeyrac groaned and turned to Enjolras with a pout. His face could barely be seen over the heap of cushion and duvet.

“On the tellie,” he said softly. Enjolras exhaled and closed the laptop again. He turned on the television screen that was installed in a poor way on the opposite wall. Back in bed he gave a questioning eye to the duvet that lay in between them. Courfeyrac rolled under and in them, making a small gap so Enjolras could scooch in too.

“Happy?” Enjolras asked when he let Courfeyrac lie on his chest and put an arm around him.

“No, of course not,” Courfeyrac scoffed. “I’m in despair.”

Enjolras hummed. “Which channel?”

“Try Nick Jr.. They stream that shit all day, because Britain says fuck all to American shows.”

“That you know this.” Courfeyrac pressed his head in Enjolras’ neck, and waved to the screen so Enjolras would get the message to change channels. His brown curls tickled Enjolras’ chin.

“Men needn’t know anything but Peppa’s broadcast schedule.”

When Jehan peaked his head around the door somewhat later that day, he gave an amused smile to the two boy tangled up in bed. “And I thought I lost you two.”

“Ah, come whither my little Prouvaire!” Courfeyrac opened up his arms and with that slapped Enjolras in the face with a good deal of enthusiasm. Jehan jumped flat on the bed, the mattress plunging down under the impact.

“You guys watching Peppa Pig?” Jehan asked after sending a glance to the screen. He tucked himself under the duvet and sprawled himself all over Courfeyrac.

“We have been since... how long have we been watching this Enji?”

Enjolras checked his phone, then bonked his head against the bedframe. “Four hours.” Courfeyrac whistled for the accomplishment. “Four solid hours of Peppa.”

“You don’t want to watch something else?”

“Doesn’t that mean _you_ want to watch something else?” Jehan shrugged and took the remote. “What did you think of 10 Things I hate About You?”

Courfeyrac spluttered. “First of all! You think you can butt into _our_ bed day?” He aggressively pointed his finger to Enjolras and them himself. Enjolras had taken out his phone again after Jehan mentioned putting on a new movie. He was going to fall asleep after giving all his energy to stay awake during that damned pig’s show. Now with Jehan, he didn’t have to feel bad if he were to fall asleep in this bed.

“I didn’t know you’d made it exclusive with Enjolras.” A pause. “Wait, sorry Courf.” Courfeyrac seemed to forgive their friend immediately, with that same sodden down smile on his face as this morning.

“Doesn’t matter. But second, I absolutely don’t want to watch a romantic comedy.”

“Oh, you shut up. I know you want this.” Jehan scrolled to Netflix in the menu options. “Drop the Big Boy act and watch this with me.” He typed out the title until it was suggested, and Courfeyrac gave a deep sigh.

As Can’t Take Eyes off You played in the background, Enjolras had sank against the headboard and Courfeyrac was sobbing. He thanked Jehan with his whole heart. “You were right! I _did_ need this.” Courfeyrac gestured towards the screen where Joey Donner was jumping over the bleachers, and Enjolras hadn’t been paying attention at all.

Jehan set there with satisfaction tugging up his lips. “Of course I’m right, silly. You need confrontation with your deepest emotions, and then cry it out.”

Courfeyrac threw his arms around Jehan, almost smothering him with his hug. “Have I told you how much I love you? You always know what’s good for me.” Jehan stroked his hair and kissed his cheek, with Enjolras still lying there in the same bed asking himself what was the exact thing he had done wrong. Self-pity hadn’t been in his list of medication, that was where it had gone South.

“You’ve told me a hundred times already, yes. Hasn’t he, Enjolras?” Both heads turned to him with an expectation that he had something to say about it.

Enjolras lifted his eyebrows. “I haven’t been counting, if that’s what you were thinking.” They all looked back at the screen, heads gradually moving to each other. It wasn’t until Katarina started reciting her poem that the commentary came back.

“Well, if this isn’t worst I’ve ever heard read out loud.” Enjolras massaged his brow as he idly watched the end scene. Beside him, Jehan chuckled. He had Courfeyrac on his chest, now making miniscule braids of the curls. “You don’t think so?”

“Always keep the context in mind, Enj. This is a teen presenting her moments of vulnerability for her class project! Expect to feel the cringe if you’re not on the exact same page as her.” Jehan sighed. “Poor girl.”

“So you are, then?”

Jehan stuck up his nose at him, feigning nonchalance. “And what makes you think that?”

“I’d say it’s an abomination for a serious poet to normally support this.”

“Who says I’m a serious poet?”

“What about Javier?’’ Enjolras reminded him. “I bet you want to be serenaded by his arse right after watching this!”

Jehan spluttered at that. “It wasn’t his arse that serenaded me! Now you’ve got that image in my head, and it will never leave.” He put the back of his hand against his forehead, and acted hurt. Courfeyrac slowly lifted his head off Jehan’s chest, his eyes narrowed against the light.

“Who’s Javier?”

Jehan stroked him over his head, smiling gently down at him. “Just an angel. Were you asleep, dear?”

For a moment, Courfeyrac threw Enjolras a confused expression, as if he could elaborate. When he saw that Enjolras couldn’t, he fell back down Jehan’s chest. “I’m only gone for two days, and Enjolras here knows more than me! How have we come to this?”

“ _Hey_.” Enjolras scoffed, trying to hide the actual annoyance that he felt after the comment. It was an old idea that always got in everyone’s head, that he hadn’t a sense- an interest in his friends’ lives. That he was numb to social interaction was already a joke between his friends since high school, and Enjolras thought the hilarity of it had died down by now. But then it had been taken with him to college.

And sometimes it hurt Enjolras, when it dawned upon him that his friends might really think that he didn’t care for them.

Jehan got him out of his reverie. “I only told Enj this morning when Grantaire and I came back. You were sleeping then.” _Or so I hope_ was left unsaid.

Courfeyrac tilted his head to butt Jehan with his chin. There was an urge to gag at the two, but then the name spoken stuck to Enjolras and there was suddenly nothing else on his mind anymore.

“Is Grantaire already gone out of the house? I haven’t seen him yet.” Enjolras kept his face to the screen, even put a hand under his head so not to look at the others. Pretty peculiar, as there was only credits rolling on the screen.

“Oh, no dear. He’s still in bed.” Jehan sounded unsure all of a sudden, or- Enjolras couldn’t quite place the tone. He sounded sad. Enjolras dared to steal a look on Jehan, and was confused to see him all pursed-lipped and staring sternly. Then, he returned to his soft demeanour. “What’s gotten you so interested in our house-bear?” He was teasing, but the point that he made was lowly frustrating to his surprise. Enjolras didn’t know either.

“House-bear?” He asked instead.

Jehan sniggered to himself, as if it was an inside joke. “Who else would be? I’ll wait.”

Courfeyrac, who was also still there, let out a long whine. “I know someone who is. Used to be…” He got a pat on the shoulder from Jehan.

“You should meet Bahorel, though. He could easily win from R on that!”

Enjolras hummed, imagined for a second even. What would a Grantaire look like, but then ten times more… R? He also didn’t have an answer to that. “To answer your question, I wanted to ask him again about the Junk van.” Which wasn’t true.

“And now I’ve also missed something about a Junk van?! What have you been doing, Prouvaire?” Jehan silenced Courfeyrac’s outburst with an open hand to his face.

Without looking at Courfeyrac, Jehan kept himself towards Enjolras, and started grinning. “That was just utter nonsense, Enj.”

Courfeyrac pouted as he was left out of the conversation. “I’m the one in need of distraction. Tell me about the Junk van!”

Jehan hooked his arms around Courfeyrac’s neck to hug him as close as he could. “I’ll tell you after we’ve put on Mama Mia, okay?” Courfeyrac whined again as an answer. It was taken as a ‘Yes’ with maybe a ‘Please’ added to it, as Jehan took the remote with a smug smile to navigate through Netflix.

Enjolras didn’t think he could sit through another movie, so he rolled over and stepped out of the bed. “I’ve got some work waiting for me. You two will be okay without me, right?” He got two heads nodding, already oblivious of him and focussing on what was on the screen.

The door closed quietly behind him, and there he stood in the empty hallway again. The music of the movie sounded muted into the hallway, together with muffled chatting.

It was for the second time on his way down to continue what he had left behind on the kitchen table, that the sight of Grantaire stopped his tracks. The man stood before the front door, as if he was just planning to leave. He looked a little struck with his mouth agape, as he saw Enjolras in the middle of his step on the stairs. His hand was almost touching his backpack that hung on the rack. In this light, he looked worn out to the point of death, but his hair was a mess like he had only then jumped out of bed. He must have slept through half of the day, but still looked restless.

Enjolras coughed as an excuse to break the tension. “You’re heading out?”

Grantaire let his arm fall, still looking as if he didn’t know what Enjolras was doing here. Enjolras could try to make him laugh, say ‘Yes, I do live here! You do too?’, which already sounded stupid in his head.

“I… was thinking of going to Tesco, yeah.” Grantaire let his head down, like he was expecting to get scolded. Thinking about it, had he ever done that to make Grantaire ready for it now? Enjolras would look over that later on.

“Okay. That’s cool.” And Enjolras could finish his way down the stairs right now, wishing Grantaire a nice trip down the street, and walk to the kitchen table where his work was still waiting for him. But Grantaire was watching him intently again, feeling his eyes upon him as he was studying his own nails. He started clacking them against the railing, and his gaze was everywhere but on Grantaire.

Then, it was actually Grantaire who spoke up. He pointed his thump to the door, a glint of confusion in his eyes. “You wanna come with me?” He looked down again, swung on the ball of his feet. What else could he have done in this situation, Enjolras thought. Say ‘Well’ and ‘Goodbye’, he could have done that. So Enjolras took the chance to feel quite touched by Grantaire’s question. He felt himself smiling.

“Why not? Let me ask the others if they want anything.” After Grantaire’s nod, Enjolras dashed up the stairs again. In his haste, he stumbled over the last couple of steps, and rapped at the door he had just closed.

The two yelled back in question. “I’m going out! Groceries.” Enjolras leaned his cheek against the door. He heard the movie still playing in the background. “Is there anything I can get you?”

A shrill came through the door, and the singing stopped. Jehan declined with thanks. “Weren’t you going to dive into the papers?” he called out.

“Get me Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge!” Courfeyrac hollered, then adding “Please!”. Enjolras chuckled against the door, and told them to enjoy themselves before taking the stairs down again.

“You ready?” Grantaire had his backpack on hanging off his shoulder now, looking up from his phone when he heard Enjolras.

“Yeah, just about.’’ Enjolras slung his jacket over his shoulders. “Are the girls home?”

“Already asked them if they wanted anything, yes, if that’s what you’re asking.” That was exactly what Enjolras was planning to ask. “They gave me a list.” Grantaire held up a folded paper between his index- and middle finger. “So, let’s go.”

The air of the autumn afternoon hit them as the stood on the porch, Grantaire locking the door behind them. Enjolras had seen him do that a couple of times now, and it stuck to his mind.

“Why do you do that?” he asked as they walked down to the pavement.

Grantaire tilted his head. “What do you mean by that?”

“Locking the door.” Grantaire shook his head lightly, hinting that he still didn’t understand, so Enjolras quickly added “There’s still people inside, you know. It just occurred to me that you do that.” _A lot._ Enjolras looked away from Grantaire’s There were a couple of dog-walkers on the streets, the rest of the neighbourhood still at the office until the afternoon. It was no place for students, and they wouldn’t be here, in between arched doorways and well-kept balconies, if it wasn’t for Courfeyrac’s dead aunt.

That explanation was enough for Grantaire. He had a private smile, like he was having an insight joke with himself. “Don’t old habits die hard?” And he skipped the last meters to the corner store. Very curious.

“What were you even doing before this?” The automatic doors slid open, Enjolras taking a basket with him and following Grantaire into the store. He was always walking in front of Enjolras, through the pathways up to the meats, with again that slump in his steps. It was always like that, and Enjolras had to tell himself, as he picked through the mangos hastily so he wouldn’t lose Grantaire out of sight, that he was fixating.

Grantaire’s eyes went over the shelves, took a product from them, and every time he did that he would look over his shoulder to see how close the basket in Enjolras’ hand was. With ease, he threw sausages and macaroni into the basket.

“You’ve got the list in your head?”

For once, Grantaire stopped his quick steps and turned around to look at Enjolras. An old lady pushed past him as they stood in the middle the pathway. “You haven’t taken it out once,” Enjolras explained.

“Aren’t you quite the observer?”

“Do you mind, then?”

Grantaire’s eyes became crinkled by his grin pushing up his whole face. It was amusement that Enjolras didn’t always see on him, but it fit him well. Then, Grantaire said “Eponine always asks me for the same stuff. The list’s for Cosette.”

Enjolras caught up to him, wanting to find out if Grantaire wouldn’t avoid to answer his questions now that he couldn’t avoid Enjolras himself. They blocked most of the pathway as they kept walking. “You’ve known her for a while.” It was an assumption more than a question.

Grantaire’s shove of the bag of crisps into the basket was uncalculated, the back of his hand briefly brushing against Enjolras’. He mumbled an apology, and he took his hand back stiffly.

“We’ve known each other for a whole while, you could say.”

“I’ve known her for… a whole while, too.”

Grantaire said nothing, trying to figure out how they could have missed each other. At least, that was what Enjolras was racking his brain over.

“Funny, I’ve never seen you around,” Grantaire then contemplated.

“Her brother used to come over at my parents’ house. For extra help with school.” He struggled with his words without a reason for it to be so. He cursed himself. “Eponine would always bring and pick him up.”

“So, no high school sweethearts?” Grantaire grinned even wider when he saw Enjolras shaking his head frantically.

“I went to an all-boys school. We didn’t mix in the upper grades.”

“Figures.”

Enjolras turned his head to him. “What do you mean?”

“Just that you give off that air. The private schoolboy turned to be an expensive uni student.” He held out his hand to illustrate his point with a graceful motion. All the while Enjolras tried to figure out why Grantaire would do that.

“Bold of you to assume that I went to a private school,” Enjolras spat back.

“Because you didn’t?” Grantaire tilted his head.

Enjolras bit his lip, then grumbled “I did.” It brought a laugh from Grantaire. He shut his mouth after that, a smile still lingering on his face.

“I thought you only knew Jehan.” Enjolras was quick to find something new, because he wanted to keep Grantaire talkin, and as that was what he knew. It was another question, but not asked, so Grantaire would answer it.

“It was Jehan who brought me to you, because Eponine would never want me in the same house.” Enjolras gaped, because he didn’t know what to say to something so sad and far from his expectations of Grantaire and Eponine’s relationship. He closed his mouth again when Grantaire laughed at him. “I was joking.”

“Oh.”

So, they were friends, or he wouldn’t make jokes like that. Grantaire knew Jehan and Eponine, and Jehan knew about Grantaire. Jehan was informed on Grantaire, knew when he wanted to go out or had to stay in bed.

Scanning over the desserts in the freezers before him, Enjolras noticed Grantaire was not at his side. A glance thrown beside him, and he found the other halted in front of the frozen fruits. Grantaire’s eyes were drooping, and he was hanging into his pelvis. The corners of his lips were quirked up, too. Enjolras blinked, and looked back at the Ben & Jerry’s selection.

“You’re seriously going to pay for that? Get the off-brand chocolate ice lollies. Basically the same.” Grantaire came with a box of frozen blueberries, pointing at the knock-off Magnums.

Enjolras scrunched up his nose before taking the box from Grantaire. “I didn’t come here to be a cheapskate, so no, thank you.” The chocolate fudge was on eye level. He rolled his eyes.

Beside him, Grantaire scoffed. “It’s for Courfeyrac, right? He’ll give no single shite about what you’ll bring home. Comfort food is comfort food.”

“It’s not about satisfying Courfeyrac. It’s in my own morality to stay with the fair trade products, even when it costs a little extra.” He grabbed the cup out of the shelves and threw it down the basket to finish his statement. Here he was, hoping Grantaire would let it go.

All the check-out points held long queues, so they were bound to spend some more time together, Enjolras realised. He would have enjoyed spending his time waiting in silence, but Grantaire seemed to have other ideas about that.

“You just made that basket weigh about three quid heavier,” he muttered, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted Enjolras to hear or not.

But Enjolras had heard. “Excuse me, what?”

Grantaire shrugged, putting his hands in his jacket’s pocket. “Just sharing, you know, what all students would think after looking into our basket.” Then, he looked Enjolras right in the eyes, for a small moment. “Except you, I mean.”

Enjolras spluttered. “Since when were you chosen to set the requirements for every student existing?”

“Only because you have your funding doesn’t mean that the common student in this city, and that’s only this city, has enough to spend.”

He didn’t want to encourage Grantaire to continue, but his eyes narrowed, and he asked coldly “Are you wealth shaming me?”

“Is that what the kids call it these days?” Was Grantaire teasing him?

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Enjolras gritted as he put down the products on the display. “And beside that, I’m paying for my own food with my own hard-earned money.” He tried to not let any smugness filter through.

Grantaire gaped at him, and then blindly got his card out of his pocket, putting it against the scanner behind Enjolras. He started and looked at where Grantaire’s hand had gone. “We’re holding up the line,” Grantaire said.

He was right, and so Enjolras kindly forced all the products into his bag with haste, and stomped to the exit.

“I’m paying you back,” Enjolras said with low annoyance when grantaire had caught up to him.

It must have been laughable, Enjolras’ petulance. So, Grantaire had laughed. “With your so hard-earned money, yeah?”

“I’ve got a respectable job!”

Grantaire grinned, amused. “Care to tell me?”

Enjolras was ought to say ‘No, fuck you with all you ever say’, but thought better of himself. “I walk the dogs in our neighbourhood,” he murmured, but held his head high.

To his surprise, Grantaire’s laughter didn’t hold any mockery. “It’s convenient. Flexible hours that you mostly can only get with babysitting, but I’m bad with children. It works great with school and the volunteering,’’ he tried to say over Grantaire laughing.

“Ha, Sorry! Never expected that.” Grantaire took a deep breath to get himself together again. A smile stayed on his face, and it infected Enjolras too.

“What had you thought it would be?”

“Writing columns in some obscure local newspaper?”

Enjolras winced. “Well, you’re not far off. Used to do that before this.”

“Used to?”

“I got kicked out when I found a way to promote some rallies on their social media without their permission.”

It took a moment before Grantaire responded. “You do that kind of stuff?” It was asked with some hesitance. And it put Enjolras on edge again, like his fingers were hooking around the straps of his bag so he would not grab Grantaire by his collar.

“For a good reason, yes,” Enjolras answered curtly. Again, Grantaire waited with his next words.

“Hey, I think that’s brilliant. Down with creative oppression.”

It wasn’t exactly what Enjolras’ motives were in the greater picture, but he nodded. “The dog-walking pays better, anyways.” And Enjolras had learned that he liked Grantaire’s cheer, so that was what he was after rather than an argument.

“Must be some small fortune these people are willing to sacrifice for their pups.” He bumped his shoulder against Enjolras, swinging on his feet before getting his balance back.

“Let’s keep it at that.” His lips turned up, and when he dared to steal a glance at Grantaire, he saw the twinkle in his eyes.

“No fucking shit you can afford luxuries like these.” He tapped on Enjolras’ backpack. “You’re living the Gucci tier of Student life.”

They were back in their street, now with the first schoolchildren returning home. “Wouldn’t you like to know how to efficiently spend your money, instead of wasting it all on getting drunk on a Thursday night?” Enjolras argued with humour.

Grantaire’s hand stopped pushing at their gate. When Enjolras wanted to ask what he was waiting for, he was a bit shocked when he saw Grantaire looking at him, slightly wounded and with questioning eyes. “Huh, yeah.” And then, he pushed the gate open.

Enjolras followed him behind, not really sure what he was supposed to do with what he had just witnessed, but Combeferre saved him from that question when he opened the door before they could get to the porch.

“And here I was hoping you’d taken my advice.” Combeferre leaned against the doorframe to let Grantaire pass through, but immediately turned back to Enjolras who was still outside.

“Thank you for the warm welcome. How was your day?” Enjolras felt Combeferre’s gaze following him as he stepped inside, unimpressed by his banter. He stopped Enjolras by taking his arm, and when Enjolras turned around, he was ready for him with mild interest.

“You went out with Grantaire?”

Enjolras looked at the hand on his arm, and took it off slowly, assuring Combeferre he would not try to walk away. “Yes. Nothing special, though. Just the grocery store.” He turned to see the hallway behind him, searching for Grantaire. No luck with that, as Grantaire seemed to have disappeared without leaving a sign. He didn’t even hear sounds from the kitchen when he strained his ears. “I got you some fruits,” Enjolras added as he shrugged off his backpack. “There’s ice cream in there, too, so I gotta…”

Combeferre walked before he could to the kitchen. “What did you get me?”

“Mangos.” Enjolras followed his friend into the kitchen, and put his backpack on the counter. He heard Combeferre hum in approval from the dinner table. “Actually, how was your day?” he asked again while taking out the cup and putting it in the freezer.

Combeferre peaked his head around the arch to look at Enjolras. “Is there a reason why you’re asking?”

“Can’t I simply enjoy hearing my best friend talk about his day?”

“Oh, stop it.” Enjolras huffed out a laugh, then found the macaroni and sausages in his backpack. Looking at the two in his hands, Enjolras had no idea what to do with them. And then there were still the crisps and blueberries. He put the mangos on the countertop for Combeferre. The blueberries were put in the freezer.

“Wait, I got to go bring these real quick.” He waved with the packages, and took the crisps with the other two to the hallway.

Behind him, he heard Combeferre calling out to him “My day was just fine! Thank you for your interest!” And after he knocked on the door under the staircase and let inside, Eponine asked what that was all about.

“I tried to show my interest.” Enjolras shrugged. In the corner of the room, sprawled over Eponine’s bed, Cosette lifted her head and waved at him. He held his hands up in return. “I think these are yours.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for snack time!” Cosette rolled over to the edge of the bed, and held out her hand.

“The macaroni and sausages are mine, thank you,” Eponine said as she took them from him. The bag of crisps were kindly chugged towards Cosette’s outstretched hand, caught by her perfectly. Beside him, Eponine quirked an eyebrow. “Why are you standing here with these? Where’s Grantaire?” She looked past Enjolras’ shoulder for a sign of him, and for a moment Enjolras was also expecting the man there.

“He’s gone… upstairs?” It wasn’t plausible, as he hadn’t heard stumbling on stairs when Combeferre had halted him for thorough questioning. But Eponine didn’t look at him in confusion, didn’t seem to even be fazed. “I didn’t know you’ve known Grantaire,” he remembered.

Eponine leaned against the desk. “Well, we were neighbours for-” she held up her hand. “a long time. We went to the same schools as well. Thought you knew?”

“I’ve never been to your home.”

Eponine snickered. “Oh, but you should be happy about that.” Cosette nodded heavily, which reminded Enjolras that Cosette must also have known Grantaire if Eponine knew Grantaire. “What’s it to you that I know him, anyway?” Eponine added.

 _Tell me what’s it that Grantaire is,_ Enjolras thought, but didn’t ask out loud. Instead, he offered his hands. “Should I put them away for you?” He gestured to the macaroni and sausages that Eponine was still holding.

There was a moment that she took to stare at him from under her eyebrows before handing the products to him. She patted his shoulder. “Thank you for your services. Now, go be kind somewhere else.” With a wink and a smile, she then started to shove him towards the door.

Enjolras put on only minimal resistance. “I see none of you in this house is interested in my attention.”

“Oh, poor you. Look for new friends.”

Enjolras thought of how he had left Combeferre waiting in the kitchen, and then there was also Courfeyrac, perhaps still indulged and cradled by Jehan in his bed. They were his friends. He had enough friends.

“By the way, I’m going to have Gavroche over for the weekends again.” Eponine’s voice got Enjolras back in the room. She suddenly looked stern, and Enjolras felt his shoulders tense up. He knew what this meant.

“Is he alright?” He still dared to ask.

“Yes, just taking him in before that changes.” She tried to recover with another smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be taking him out, and Grantaire loves Gavroche as well, so no full weekend of homework duty for you.”

It wouldn’t have been a problem: they had stayed over for more days, both of the siblings, at Enjolras’ parents’ house. But Eponine wouldn’t accept that if he would try to assure her of it. That he wouldn’t have a problem with looking after her brother for the whole weekend.

She gave him one more kind shove. “Now, leave.”

“I only have the dogs for the weekends, just so you know.”

The door was closed when Enjolras had stepped outside. He heard the muffled voice of Cosette: “’T is weird. I used to have a big old crush on Grantaire.”

Eponine barked out a laugh. “Why am I only hearing this now?”

“Because then you’d say I’ve got a dumb boy complex!”

“You’re taking the words out of my mouth.”

Enjolras forced himself to get his ear from the door and walk away. There was Combeferre, still sitting at the table, now slicing into a mango. He looked up, and his expression changed into a sorry one as he saw it was Enjolras. 

“I just remembered. I haven’t picked up a mattress today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/nisushi)!


	3. In between telling and understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Zhe for helping me out and beta-ing this for me!

Courfeyrac’s cat-eye sunglasses were gliding down the bridge of his nose when he sat up to point out that “We haven’t hung out here in so long,” which meant ‘We haven’t ravaged the place here in so long.’ 

Enjolras kept his eyes on the pages of the book he had taken outside with him. With only a few hours of sun left to enjoy, they had propped up the sunbeds on the paved platform, next to the small bust that stood askew in the kitchen garden. Enjolras loved to sit here at the end of the day if the afternoon was lecture-free.

Sunbathing was fun.

Also, Combeferre had taken over the whole of their room to put up his solar system model, which meant there would be feet on Enjolras’ desk and no room for his book. It also meant that Combeferre was doing alright enough to stick his planets to the ceiling, he supposed.

Next to Enjolras, Marius started humming in agreement. He had no idea what Enjolras had been trying to convey, and was leaning back in the chair he had gotten because they were out of sunbeds. He deserved the chair, was what Enjolras thought silently.

“See? The People have spoken.”

Enjolras shut his book, his eyebrow twitching because he did enjoy lounging in the garden. If everyone and everything was quiet. “He has no say in this.  _ He _ doesn’t even live here.” Enjolras pointed his thumb at Marius without looking away from Courfeyrac.

Enjolras could sense Marius opening his mouth before the words came out. “Half of me lives here,” Marius sighed.

Enjolras screeched “Don’t ever say that again,” while Courfeyrac gazed at Marius through his sunglasses.

“Sometimes, I’m scared what will happen to you if Cosette ever leaves you.”

The idea of it seemed to be enough to wind Marius up. “Have you heard her planning on it?” He hugged himself, as if hoping it would help him not to freak out.

Courfeyrac draped himself over Enjolras so he could touch Marius’ arm, stroking it with his thumb. “Don’t you worry, little one. She only speaks well of you.” Courfeyrac climbed over him to get closer to Marius, knees digging painfully into his thighs. Enjolras groaned. “And if it were like that, I’d tell you. I know how much it feels like a stab in the back when you’re suddenly left by your loved one.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes while Courfeyrac couldn’t see it, still perched in his lap. Two weeks into this, and the dramatics hadn’t seized. Not from Courfeyrac’s side, at least. For Enjolras, he had passed the point of credibility and his sulking was hardly worth any attention. One glance at Marius, and Enjolras realised he was alone in that. Marius’ eyes were glazed over, and he shakily took Courfeyrac by the arms.

“That you have to go through this…”

“And all by myself!”

Courfeyrac was deliberate in screwing one knee into Enjolras’ pelvis when he tried to push Courfeyrac away.

Marius  _ sniffled.  _ “If there’s anything,  _ anything _ , that I could do for you-”

“You know well enough what you could do for me.” Courfeyrac sniffed at the end. That bastard. “Spread the message: There will be a party. Discussion for the date is open.” Then, he whispered, “Papa needs a rebound.”

Summoning all his might, Enjolras was able to throw Courfeyrac off of him. “You’re  _ abusing the situation _ ,” he snapped, and took his book from the sunbed before striding back inside.

Behind him, he could hear Marius say something like “Shouldn’t he be more supportive?” and then Enjolras slammed the door shut.

The pantry was right across from Cosette’s room, with Cosette currently looking at him through the corridor. She tilted her head at his sudden outburst. His hand was still clasped around the handle. “I hope that redness in your face doesn’t come from the fifteen minutes you just spent in the sun.” She waved at her own face.

Toeing off his shoes, Enjolras sighed and massaged his brow. “I hope your boyfriend won’t be moving in anytime soon.”

A giggle came from Cosette. “Anytime soon? No. Did something happen?”

“Does ‘nothing’ ever happen around Pontmercy?”

“Hey, at least you can’t say you’ll ever be bored with him around.”

“Can I still choose boredom?” He got a punch in the shoulder for that. Enjolras wanted to call her out on it, but Cosette shushed him before he could say anything, taking his shoes and putting them on herself.

“I think I heard the post coming through earlier. Can you see if there’s anything for me and put it on my desk? Thanks!” And she was out, cheering at Marius and Courfeyrac when she got to the sunbeds.

Enjolras stood there in the pantry for some time, listening to the muted laughs of his friends and watching their blurry figures move through the frosted glass. Still in his socks, he shuffled through the hallway to the front door.

Four envelopes and a package lay on the doormat. Upstairs, there was stumbling and cursing that he could faintly hear. Combeferre was still busy. His earlier offer to help had been quickly declined, Combeferre reassuring that he just needed some Combeferre-time. Enjolras could have countered that buying a mattress for his new bed would give him plenty of that. He could have.

Enjolras picked up what had arrived; an announcement from the ISP company, an update from Courfeyrac’s part-time job, and a letter from a youth reporter society. Cosette. So Enjolras strode back to her room, flipping through the rest of the post.

He threw the letter on Cosette’s desk, then stilled when his eyes fell on the package at the top of the pile still in his hands.

It was one of those that got packed in a sturdy envelope, with a swell in the middle. The label read UCHL.

To Grantaire.

Enjolras assumed it was medication, and then he thought of Combeferre who was the only one that took medication, as far as he was aware. Combeferre always went to the pharmacy himself, so it fazed Enjolras that Grantaire had the stuff sent to him. He had also never seen it on the doormat before.

A detour to the dinner table was made to drop off the post, but he kept the package for Grantaire. It was when he saw that he had put three envelopes on the table instead of two, that he realised there was still one to check.

With the package and last envelope in hand, Enjolras made his way upstairs to Grantaire’s room. He looked at the sloppy numbers and letters that made up his address and name, but there was no sender information. He paused at the end of the stairs, leaning against the wall so he could check his own post.

There was a letter inside, handwritten again, but on unlined yellowed paper. Enjolras snorted and turned the envelope over, ripping it open. He had almost expected to see a wax stamp on the front- how pretentious. It was signed and all. 

Enjolras had the urge to go back to Courfeyrac to ask him which friend of his had pulled off way too much for a prank, but then he read the scrawled lines.

Amusement made place for annoyance. Enjolras frowned at the letter, murmuring the words to himself. It was to be expected. One gaze thrown at his own bedroom door, hearing the soft stumbling about, Enjolras held himself back from knocking. This was not a weight to put on Combeferre now, and they would have an argument over it anyway. 

This meant not telling Courfeyrac either, because that would be some kind of treason in Enjolras’ head. 

His stomach churned as he realised he alone would be stuck with this information. And when Enjolras found out that it was nagging him, he turned to Grantaire’s door.

It was done unconsciously, and Enjolras frowned at himself. He was looking straight into Grantaire’s room, the door being left open. Yet he heard no sign of life coming from there. It was dark, supposedly the curtains had not been opened this morning.

He stepped closer and could now see the opposite wall of the room through the corridor. It was covered with papers of all sizes and colours- he only saw that now. Enjolras thought back, and it dawned on him that he had never been in Grantaire’s room. More than any other room in this house, Enjolras felt that he was looking into something really private when he had his hand on the doorframe.

“What are you doing here?”

Enjolras wouldn’t ever admit to actually jumping at the sudden voice behind him. He quickly turned away from the room, seeing Grantaire with his bag strap still on his shoulder and portfolio in hand. Enjolras gaped at him, thinking at a bizarre speed.

“Nothing.” Which was not a lie, because he didn’t even know why he had brought himself here. Then, he looked down at his hand. “The post came in. I- I wanted to give you this?”

He hoped Grantaire wasn’t going to ask. Otherwise he would have to find an explanation on why he had taken it from the doormat or why he hadn’t just put it on the kitchen table like he did with the other post.

Grantaire took only one look at the package in his hand, the realisation of what it was coming fast and him taking the package out of Enjolras’ hand even faster. He forced it into his backpack and then he stood there, not knowing whether he wanted to tell Enjolras to mind his own business or laugh the awkwardness off.

“Uhm… thanks,” he said in the end. There came the underlying tension that always seemed to be between them. It made Grantaire look around frantically and Enjolras grip the letter in his hand harder. The sound of it drew Grantaire’s attention.

“What you’ve got there?” Grantaire had the nerve to take his hand in which he had the letter. Enjolras didn’t resist, however. If he really wanted to, he could lie about it being from his grandmother.

Over Grantaire’s shoulder, Enjolras caught sight of Combeferre and his door. Then, he made a choice.

“It’s a letter from Société de Patron Minette. You know, like the dining club.”

Enjolras ought to keep it at that, because why would Grantaire care? But a couple of seconds told him otherwise, as Grantaire’s face lit up with interest.

“I think I read about them a couple of weeks ago, yeah.”

“That must have been about the case, then.” Grantaire nodded vaguely, so Enjolras continued. “That was our case.”

“Yours as in…?”

“Ours as in Les Amis de l’ABC. We are a Mock dining club,’’ Enjolras explained. Courfeyrac had insisted on it in their freshman year, on the name and everything. 

“We followed their events for months, with the goal to collect enough evidence that they have thought themselves above the law. Enough to banish them.” And Enjolras couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. They had in fact achieved what they had fought for. “We celebrated and all, but then the fight happened, and well...” They had paused on everything they were working on. To say that certain people were responsible- that Enjolras held certain people responsible for this was a little cruel. He scolded himself.

Grantaire whistled, maybe actually impressed. “Playing private detective?”

“No one asked us to, if that’s what you mean,” Enjolras defended. “Les Amis work for a more inclusive student life.”

Grantaire crossed his arms, rocked on the balls of his feet, and smirked. “Les Amis. I’ve heard of that. Could it be Jehan who's told me something about that?”

In the midst of it, Enjolras must have confused Grantaire’s interest for… what was he doing? Mocking them? “It could have been. He’s in it, but so are Eponine and Cosette, and Courfeyrac, Combeferre-”

“Wait! Stop.” Grantaire waved with his hands. “What is  _ this _ exactly, and why am I not part of this?” He tried to smile, but the press of his lips seemed to hold a little too much force in it.

Enjolras tilted his head, taken aback by how Grantaire could be, could act. “Les Amis de l’ABC is a Mock dining club. Anyone can sign up, without paying any membership fee or following stuck up requirements. They only have to show ambition for what we stand for.”

“So, you temporarily banned one rich boy club. Bravo.” Clearly, Grantaire wanted to say more, but held himself back the moment he wanted to say his next sentence. Enjolras noticed.

“ _ It’s more than that _ .” Enjolras refused to feel anything but pride about what they did. He was close to grabbing Grantaire by his shirt but thought better of it and let his fist fall. He did come closer to Grantaire, however, to make his point. “They are responsible for sexually assaulting hundreds of students. And all under the pretence of hazing practices.” He hissed it out, because it still managed to make him boil. “This powerplay is sick, and banning ‘one rich boy club’ is the first step to ending it all.”

Grantaire seemed speechless for the first time. For the first time the conversation wasn’t about  _ him  _ but a subject completely removed from him. Grantaire only stopped his witty comments when Enjolras snarked at him.

After some time, he said, “Well, again, all I can say is congratulations.” It wasn’t mocking this time, and Enjolras felt himself relax with relief, to only confuse himself more, because why would he care what Grantaire thought of this whole ordeal?

“Thanks,” Enjolras said hesitantly. He looked down at the letter when they, again, entered the awkward silence. Grantaire caught his eye, and Enjolras snapped out of it.

“What’s the letter about, then? Does it say something about sending a mercenary this way?”

Enjolras snorted despite the situation. He understood now: Grantaire needed to keep it light. 

“Close.” Grantaire’s eyebrows quirked up at this. “I told you it was from the club’s president, right? He’s demanding we withdraw our complaints.”

“But you’re not going to do that.”

“Of course not!” Enjolras was determined to ignore the letter, wanted to push his point even further. “I’ve met them. They are nothing but dead glory and empty words.”

“What’s bothering you, then?”

Enjolras gaped at him. “Nothing’s bothering me.”

“But there is something, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me.” And Grantaire looked satisfied with himself, still smirking. The bastard thought he had it all figured out.

Enjolras wanted to disagree, that there was no reason to imply he’d only go to Grantaire for a shoulder to cry on. Yet, he asked, “Who are you?” Was he psychic?

Grantaire ignored the question. “So, I was right?” he asked instead.

Choosing to let it go, Enjolras sighed. “Like you said, this was only one club. As we have some credibility right now, I want to continue and start on a new case but…” Again, he looked at his door, and Grantaire noticed. “But we’re kind of having a break right now.”

“Is this your promotional talk for your club?”

Enjolras looked at him, if only to check if he was serious. “Would be a very shit one if it was, don’t you think?”

Grantaire snorted. “Can’t say I’m not convinced. You lot sound very adventurous.”

He was definitely making fun of them, or maybe only Enjolras. The thing was, everything Grantaire said always came with a little twist. And Enjolras tried not to fall for it.

“So, you want to join?”

Grantaire smiled, as earnest as he probably could. But when he opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Marius stopped in his tracks when he noticed them and gave a peculiar look. “Courfeyrac said to tell you that we’ll have a party next Saturday.” He looked around, saw the closed door Combeferre was hiding behind, and shrunk. He nodded at them before making his way back.

“You don’t live in this house, Marius! There’s no ‘we’!” Enjolras called after him, but he probably couldn’t hear him anymore.

“What party?” Grantaire sounded curious, but Enjolras shook his head. He wanted to wave it off, only to be interrupted by Combeferre suddenly standing in the hallway.

“Yes, what party?” The look Enjolras gave him was exasperated. But Combeferre had really given up his hermit time to see what they were up to, which was just too lovely.

“Apparently, we’re having a party next Saturday. Courtesy of Courf.” Enjolras stumbled a bit over the last part and thought he was being ridiculous. Combeferre was doing fine: he was hanging up his solar system for Christ’s sake!

Combeferre hummed, expression cool. “Well, that’s going to be unfortunate for our rest.” He smirked to himself and then slipped back into the bedroom.

Grantaire stared at him in total bewilderment. Enjolras held his hands up in defeat.

“Don’t look at me. As if I know what to do with this.”

“That was painful to watch.”

Enjolras vaguely waved with his hand. “Oh, shut it.” He had to think about where to go next, because his room was definitely not an option. The sounds of someone climbing on furniture meant that Combeferre was continuing his alone-time.

He rubbed his eyes. “When will I ever get rest?”

And at that, Grantaire barked out a laugh.

The rain had started yesterday night, and hadn’t stopped since then. The afternoon was gray and drowsy, an extreme change from what they’d been having the last couple of months. 

The pattering against the windows had taken Gavroche’s attention some time ago now, and he was paying no mind to the history handout that lay on the dinner table. Enjolras was tapping his pen against it, dozing off himself. He stayed up late yesterday night. Again.

“Let’s at least try one more question.”

Gavroche didn’t even turn away from the window. “I’d rather not,” he mocked. For the whole afternoon, he had been distracted and sulking, and shown no interest in the German warfronts in the Great War. Enjolras gave the history handout one more glance. Just leave it, he told himself. 

“Well, what would you rather do then?”

One moment passed, and then Gavroche disappeared under the table. Enjolras waited for him to attack or crawl from under the table to storm through the living room, but it stayed silent. No sign of sudden movements. 

Enjolras listened to the rest of the house. Eponine and Cosette were working their shift at the teashop, and the rest was either sitting in lecture halls or huddled in their rooms upstairs. The odd one out was Jehan, spending his free time lying under his skylight. 

Enjolras slipped from his chair and crouched down to see Gavroche directly looking at him. “Could you pass a blanket?” he asked pointedly, but Enjolras obliged, curious to see what the boy was up to. 

On the couch lay a nicely made quilt, a housewarming gift from Jehan’s aunt. Enjolras hauled himself up from under the table and took the rumpled thing from the couch to Gavroche. 

Gavroche peeked at him. “Put it over the front of the table, please.” Enjolras did as he was told. He was gestured to come back under the table, where it was now dimwith the quilt blocking out most of the outdoor light. 

“If you needed a hiding spot, we could have barricaded my room.” Gavroche scrunched up his nose at that. He tilted his head to check for any sounds- perhaps?- and came closer to whisper. 

“That room is a room you share. With that long lad with the glasses.” 

“Ferre won’t tell anyone, I can assure you of that.” Enjolras played into the secrecy. He kept his voice low, and narrowed his eyes. 

“He’s one of them.” Gavroche looked around their limited view. “He’s in the plot too.” 

Enjolras paused, thoughtful. “I don’t quite understand-” He got hushed by Gavroche waving his hand at him which Eponine would have scolded him for. The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the empty house. Someone had come back from their classes, most likely, because if he had remembered correctly, Eponine and Cosette wouldn’t be done for at least another hour. 

“Look, he sneaks around the house with that witch a lot,” Gavroche whispered lowly. Enjolras assumed he meant his sister, though it still didn’t make sense to him. When did Combeferre go and become buddy-buddy with Eponine? “I’m sure that he works as her informant. As a spy.”

Despite the whole Combeferre situation catching him off-guard for a bit, Enjolras felt himself smiling. “What are they after?” he asked quietly.

“Me,” Gavroche said it like it was obvious. “They want me to stay in that ratchet house, they think this is no good place for a kid, so they bring me back every time.” 

Enjolras’ smile fell. He frowned instead. “Is there something wrong with your parents?” Or, more-than-usual wrong with the parents, because he knew-had always known- how wrong Gavroche’s parents were. They weren’t very subtle in what they did but they had never directly abused their own cubs. At least, he had never seen it or heard of it- or was he overthinking this? 

Gavroche shook his head, and Enjolras sighed in relief. The kid just didn’t like being in that house, which was shit, but nothing could be done at the moment. Taking away a child from his legal guardians was equal to kidnapping. 

“Do you plan to hide under the table until you’re old enough to get a mortgage? Have me slide plates with food under the table every now and then?” 

“No, I’ll move to the fairy’s room as soon as I can.” Gavroche puffed his chest, and said, “It will bring great risks, but they will never find me!”

“You shouldn’t open your mouth if you don’t want them to find you, kid,” a voice came from behind the quilt. Enjolras wouldn’t ever admit it but he shrieked together with Gavroche when the light came spilling back in their hiding spot. 

Enjolras had to squint to make more out of the figure before them. He rubbed his eyes, and there was Grantaire grinning back at him. 

“Didn’t expect you to be here.” 

Enjolras wanted to comment something similar but Grantaire seemed to be everywhere these days. And by everywhere, he meant lurking behind Enjolras to surprise him. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him anymore. 

“It’s the other Spy! We’ve got to evacuate!” Gavroche tried to scramble up and away from their invader, but was taken by the collar of his shirt before he could. 

“I’m on your side, and you know that.” It was enough to stop Gavroche’s kicking, and Enjolras was reminded that Grantaire knew the Thérnadiers as well. He swallowed: Grantaire was in the plot as well. 

“You will slip this to your client, won’t you?” 

“If you keep silent, what’s there for me to tell?” Grantaire winked at Enjolras, and it was quite disturbing to find that it could fluster him. 

“You’ll say nothing?”

“Nothing.” With that, Grantaire zipped his mouth shut. Gavroche seemed to take him for his word, relaxing his arms. “But the witch will come back soon and she will find you here.” 

“This is a trap,” Gavroche mumbled but crawled past Grantaire anyway. He left Enjolras and Grantaire alone, padding over to the couches. Then the television switched on, filling the background with soft noise. 

“Are you going to stay under there, or…?”

Grantaire was excruciating, with his hand held out for Enjolras to realise that he was still under the table. Enjolras scowled at him and got out by himself. His arm was grabbed before he could get too far. 

Grantaire’s touch was warm. He licked his lips. “I’ve been thinking, and I have some people- I know some people who might be interested in your club.”

Enjolras widened his eyes slightly. He had not thought Grantaire had kept Les Amis in mind. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Depends. Do you have a place for non-students?”

“Are you recruiting for us?”

Grantaire smiled sheepishly. “You aren’t, then?”

“We’ve never thought of it.” Since it would be going against everything dining clubs were about which meant they would be breaking tradition. Enjolras nodded. “We might. What kind of friends are you talking about?”

“Some who agree with what you stand for and would want to do more than just agreeing. Overthrowing the elitist student society to the ground, and all that jazz,” Grantaire said it with such lightness, but he was looking away, plucking his ragged sleeve-ends. 

“I’d love to meet them,” Enjolras reassured him then, maybe urging Grantaire to look at him again.

“I can ask them to come this Friday, if that’s alright with you.” 

“Of course it is.” Enjolras frowned. “It’s your home too.” He thought it was obvious but now couldn’t recall seeing any of Grantaire’s friends. He never invited anyone, was almost always out of the house as well. It left Enjolras feeling concerned. 

There was still hesitation, but Grantaire promised him to ask his friends. “I think you’ll like one of them,” he said. “He’s on top of everything that's happening these days. Doesn’t take shit from anyone.” 

Enjolras tried to hide his grin. “We’ll see.” They went to sit by Gavroche’s side, idly watching television.

Eponine came in with a doggy bag some time later, rubbing at the knot in her shoulder and finding the three propped up on the couch. Her whistle at Gavroche came out sharp.

“T’was my plan all along to let her find me,” he mumbled as he jumped off the couch and took his coat from her. “Wait until you see the second part of my plan!”

“Which reminds me,” Enjolras said later on when he was still with Grantaire waiting for the rest to return. “What’s your codename?”

Grantaire snorted. “The Witch’s Helper, obviously.” He turned his face to Enjolras. “And yours?”

He huffed. 

“Eagle Two.”

The door slammed open against the wall. Enjolras even saw paint chip off. Then Courfeyrac came stomping in.

“We’re doing pre-drinking with our, and I emphasise  _ our _ , friends, and I’m not going to let you dwindle inside your room, only to show your face for an hour and then disappear again.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes as Courfeyrac sat on his desk. On his work. 

“I don’t dwindle-”

“Oh, but you do. So get off your arse and plant it somewhere downstairs.”

It took Courfeyrac tipping his chair to get Enjolras out of it. He dodged a hit from him, jumping to the other side of the room. Courfeyrac hid himself behind the other desk chair, almost scooting under Combeferre’s desk. A lump formed in Enjolras’ throat. 

Combeferre had told Enjolras, very conveniently, that he had been flooded with a sudden workload. Very important papers to read and such, he’d said. Enough excuses to hide himself in the library for the rest of the night. 

And this fact did nothing to Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras swallowed. “Okay, you win.”

Only until well into the living room could Enjolras hear the cheerful sounds from his loud friends. The couches were packed, some still missing. 

He gladly took the bottle of beer from Courfeyrac and was dragged down by Bossuet to sit with him and Musichetta. She gave him a salute with her glass. 

“You came down for the rascals before they could break anything?” 

“I’ve been warned you’d be here, yes.”

Bossuet roared out a laugh, throwing his head back against the wall. He got himself together, and grinned at having his own babysitter already. 

Enjolras looked around the room. “Where’s Joly?”

“He’s getting a lift from R and Feuilly after he’s done with his shift,” Musichetta commented while studying her glass. 

Bossuet turned to her. “I heard Bahorel was coming around too.”

“That’d be fun! Haven’t seen him around in awhile.” Musichetta seemed amused, Enjolras thought. He’d heard that name before, somewhere, but couldn’t place it. 

He let the two continue their talk without him, giving his attention to Courfeyrac and Jehan who were working their way around a speaker instead. Enjolras shot up immediately. 

“We don’t need to blast music through the whole building. Think about the neighbours.” 

Courfeyrac looked up, smiling in a way that meant no good. “I’ve politely put a notice in everyone’s mailboxes, don’t you worry.” He pulled out a microphone. It was the microphone that Enjolras and Combeferre got him for Christmas last year. It was a cheap thing. “It’s for karaoke,” Courfeyrac said jovially. 

“If only you had kept the speaker clean,” Jehan groaned. “I can’t do shit with what you’ve done with the sockets. Is this gum?” He scrunched his nose up in disgust, trying to scrape out what was blocking the socket. 

Courfeyrac shrugged. “It’ll be some time before others will arrive. You want to do a song with me?” Enjolras realised he was asking him and not Jehan. 

“I haven’t had enough to drink yet,” he protested, but was only met with an unconvinced noise. “You know that I’m not quite befriended with the microphone.”

Courfeyrac cackled. “I need a new duet partner.” 

And what an arsehole he was. Enjolras wanted to say as much but Jehan had seen through him. Behind Courfeyrac’s back, he was shaking his head. 

“Go with Jehan,” Enjolras answered coldly, and left them. 

By the time the clock hit ten, the house was filled up with friends, plus-ones, plus-ones of plus-ones. Nobody was allowed upstairs, which included Enjolras, as Courfeyrac had so kindly phrased. So Enjolras kind of slank back into the kitchen, sipped his drink, and conversed with anyone who would approach him. 

When he was certain that he was completely lost in what to do, three figures shuffled into the kitchen. Enjolras felt a smile creep up. 

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire was not alone. He was with two other lads, the three of them now almost filling the whole kitchen. One of them made Grantaire look gangly: He was bulky, adding up to the intimidating height he already had. He even had sideburns. 

The other was less of a scare to look at. He was lanky, and his shaggy red hair almost covered his eyes that were taking in the whole room. He seemed curious, an only-just-put-together figure with his shirt hanging loose around his shoulders. 

Grantaire was jumpy, his eyes shooting through the whole room rather than observing, like the other fellow. “I was looking for you,” he said with a nervous grin. “Were you hiding from all the fun?” Just then, Courfeyrac’s shrieking resonated through the house. 

Enjolras winced, feeling guilty now that he was caught. “It’s so loud in there.”

Grantaire gave him an apologetic smile but didn’t say anything further. Enjolras looked awkwardly at the two strangers, who seemed to have no idea what to do. 

“Did you want something to drink?” Enjolras offered them hastily, already leaping to the fridge. 

“What sodas do you have? We’re taking it easy tonight.” It was the sideburn-guy, but Enjolras’ eyes found Grantaire instead. He was looking away, flustered. 

The two got their cans from Enjolras, and then they were all waiting for Grantaire to do something. The redhead even gave his back a little push.

“Enjolras, these are the friends I was talking about. Bahorel and Feuilly.” He gestured at his friends and took a step back, looking relieved the introductions were over. 

“We got quite curious about you after R told us so much about you,” Feuilly grinned while offering Enjolras his hand. 

Enjolras quirked up his eyebrow. “Did he now?” Grantaire had already slipped away, however. 

“Every time we ask about this place, which is proper fucking lovely.” Bahorel also held out his hand, and almost crushed Enjolras’ when he shook it. 

“You’ve never been here?”

“First time for us, yeah.” Bahorel didn’t add an explanation, only glanced vaguely behind him. 

“We also heard about your club,” Feuilly tried to change the subject. “I read about the Patron Minette case in our college paper. I think you guys really achieved something there.”

Enjolras felt his face warm and bit back a smile. “I- Thank you. We’re hoping to do a lot more in the future.” 

“I’m cheering on you.” 

“Oh, real smooth, man.” Bahorel got a jab back for that from Feuilly. 

“Thank you.” Enjolras was lost for words. He wanted to hit himself with how stupid he must have sounded, but Feuilly gave him nothing but an assuring smile. 

“Enjolras! I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you here,” Joly interrupted whatever this was by swinging an arm around Enjolras. “Thought you’d be out with Ferre.”

Enjolras tried to get out from under his friend’s arm but failed. “Courf would have never let me.” He was gently dragged back to the living room. Joly looked back at Feuilly and Bahorel following them.

“You’ve met Feuilly and Bahorel?”

“You know them?”

Joly giggled. “Grantaire loves to show off his friends. I tried boxing with Bahorel once. I broke my wrist.”

“Oh.” In the middle of the room, Grantaire was dancing with Jehan. Enjolras frowned, feeling odd disappointment fill him. “That sounds bad.”

“It was! R and Feuilly did a rad design on my cast, though.”

Enjolras ripped his eyes from the dancing pair, looking at Feuilly with wonder. “You’re an artist?”

Feuilly shrugged. “I dabble, but I’m not nearly as great as the master himself.” He pointed at Grantaire, who was laughing and holding Jehan in his arms. “By the way, who’s that in the kimono?” 

Enjolras followed the flow of Jehan’s robes for a moment. “That’s Jehan. He lives with us. He’s known Grantaire for a long time.” He looked back at Feuilly. “You’ve never met him?”

Feuilly shook his head. “Not at all, no. Would’ve remembered that.” Enjolras would have to agree with him on that. Jehan was such a memorable character, from his appearance to the way he embraced the whole room around him. 

And then Enjolras noticed it. 

There, outside of the house, shadows were lurking in the streets, seeming to slow down their steps every time they passed the tall front windows. 

Enjolras held back to look at the figures, checking whether they were just passerbys. But they didn’t leave and kept their place in front of the windows for longer than would be considered normal. They were up to something. 

“Excuse me for a second,” Enjolras said and drove himself through the crowd to the front door. 

The night air hit him as he walked out and onto the porch. Without the mirroring of the windows, the figures, which were still standing just outside the gate, were becoming a lot clearer. There were three men who turned to Enjolras as if waiting for him. 

Enjolras made his way down the pathway but paused when he recognised them. He frowned, irritation welling up inside him. This was not something he was willing to handle tonight. The party was just getting interesting as well. Maybe they would leave if he did nothing. 

But Enjolras was called over as soon as he wanted to turn around again. “We’re very sad to find out we weren’t invited to this party, but you alone will do too, Enjolras!” Montparnasse met him with a sinister grin that glistened in the streetlights. 

“As you said yourself, you’ve got no business being here,” Enjolras hissed. He went up to meet them at the gate. “So you better get out of here.”

“We would, but since our own activities got cancelled, we're  _ desperate  _ to find the entertainment that we're missing on.” Montparnasse's face came through the bars, now inches away from Enjolras.

“You have no business being here,” Enjolras repeated, trying to keep his voice calm. His fists were clenched.

Montparnasse noticed. He gave Enjolras a once over and smirked. “But I think we do. I only wanted to check if you got my letter...”

“We got it. Now get the hell out of here.” It would take a lot more to convince Montparnasse, Enjolras knew that with even more irritation.

Montparnasse came closer, as far as the gate would allow. “And you're not going to do anything with it?” His sweet demanding voice made Enjolras want to open the gate and end this once and for all. He wanted to punch that smirk of Montparnasse's face. 

“I thought that was clear enough.”

“Oh, but so did I when I wrote that letter.” He feigned his confusion. “But it seems that we had some miscommunication. Maybe we should talk it out. Now.”

Montparnasse's hand pushed at the gate’s handle. It wasn't locked. Enjolras was fuming, surely Montparnasse had known this the entire time. He’d been taunting him. 

“Hey, are you deaf? He made it clear that he wants you to fuck off.”

All heads whipped around to the source of the sound. Grantaire came down the porch but kept his distance.

“We all know you're capable enough to understand, Montparnasse.” Grantaire didn't let anything show on his face, his tone cool. 

And Montparnasse actually took a step back, letting go of the gate. Enjolras stood stunned between the two parties. He tried to figure out what the hell was happening but failed. 

Montparnasse clicked his tongue. “There's nothing to be upset about. Just wanted to see the house for myself.” He turned around, signing at the other two guys to follow him. 

“It's rather lovely,” Montparnasse mused, and then they were gone. 

Enjolras immediately turned to Grantaire as soon as they were alone.

“What the hell was that?”

Grantaire stared at the empty street, thinking. “So, was he the guy who threatened you?”

“Answer my question first!” Enjolras spat. “And I wasn't  _ threatened.  _ His words hold absolutely no worth.”

Grantaire hummed, eyebrows knitted together. He looked concerned. 

“Do you know him?” Enjolras urged. 

“Once, we kind of hung out,” Grantaire answered hastily. “He owes me. Let's just keep it at that.”

That did nothing to ease Enjolras' curiosity for Grantaire's and Montparnasse's shared history. But then again, Grantaire knew everybody. It could mean nothing. Enjolras told himself that to stop himself from poking at it any further. 

He clenched his teeth, fists still curled tight.

“You're okay?” Graintaire sounded hesitant.

Enjolras looked at him, then noticed a hint of lipstick on his jaw. He didn't feel well. “I'm going to bed,” he murmured. “Don't mention this whole… thing to anyone.”

Enjolras felt Grantaire's eyes on him until he closed the door behind him. 

A scream filled the quiet of the house the next morning. Enjolras pulled his pillow over his head, with a groan. He then realised that the bed was empty beside him. He groaned again, now only slightly worried. 

The whole house seemed to come awake with the scream. Enjolras couldn't mute out the footsteps storming through the hallway and down the stairs, even if he really wanted to. His worry was only growing. 

When he arrived on the porch, his mind had already come up with the worst-case scenarios. If he found out that Montparnasse was behind whatever was going on…

But once really outside, Enjolras stopped. His mouth fell open. 

Everyone else was there with him, and he dared to take his eyes off the thing for a second to find Combeferre next to him. At least one of his concerns was answered. 

Jehan ran up to him, jumping in his place. He was glowing. 

“We really got the Junky Van!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we got some taste of a real plot. 
> 
> Be sure to check out [Zhe](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/iwaiko)! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> -N


	4. It's always the Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [Zhe](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/iwaiko)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> ~N

“...But we have to decide upon a few things.”

Jehan seemed happy enough with it. “Hurray for the new addition to the family!”

Courfeyrac started cheering with him, getting up from his seat. “No better reason to celebrate!” 

“Now. We’re going to decide _now._ ” Enjolras ignored the groans and the boos, folding his arms and looking down at them. “If we want to keep the car-”

“Junk van.”

The glare that Enjolras gave Grantaire could have blown him out of his chair. Grantaire held his hands up in defence. “Why am I doing this, anyway?” 

“Because you’ve always been the leader — ” “Because you have this natural air around you that gets anyone to listen to you, out of fear — ”

Jehan giggled.

Enjolras tried not to glance at Combeferre but did anyway. His friend had been avoiding his eyes, and that sent Enjolras into a turmoil of worry. The tense air at the table was telling him that he wasn’t the only one—only Courfeyrac seemed not to have picked up the heavy discomfort, rocking back in his chair.

Combeferre refused to look at him but did speak up at last. At least there was that. “Enjolras is right. If we don’t make plans right now, it will never happen.” He put his hands together and waited for everyone to focus. Even Courfeyrac obliged.

Enjolras felt his clenched fingers relax. This was a moment they had all been dreading.

“First of all, we will split all costs, as long as they are reasonable. So midnight McDrives are out of the question...” Enjolras glanced at Courfeyrac, who gasped. “Or other weird shenanigans. Those will be individual costs. Splitting means everyone would pitch in, even those without a driving license.” Which was only him at the moment. He sighed, purposely not looking at Éponine who he knew was thinking the same. He could almost feel her smirk from across the table. 

“Those who agree, say Aye.”

“Aye!” said everyone. 

“If that’s about it...” Courfeyrac said and stood up again. 

“If _you_ would stop interrupting for once.”

A pin could have been heard dropping at that moment. Everyone turned their heads to Combeferre, wide-eyed. He didn’t add anything or looked at Courfeyrac, who seemed completely at a loss.

In the awkward moment of silence, Enjolras met Grantaire’s eyes. He vaguely gestured at Grantaire to go on.

“Last point!” He announced loudly, giving a nervous smile. “Maintenance schedules.”

Everyone groaned. 

Before Courfeyrac had the chance to take the drinks out of the fridge, Enjolras had put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re okay?”

Courfeyrac puffed out a laugh, looking questionably at the hand on his shoulder. “Are _you_ okay?” 

“I’m not kidding, Courf. Seeing your first interaction together was already a horrible experience.”

Courfeyrac’s face fell as if the whole van meeting had been exhausting for him. “It wasn’t the first time. We’ve… conversed.”

_Of course they have,_ Enjolras thought. _It’s been a month now, or something like that?_ He was still reluctant to ask, but he did anyway. “How did that go?”

“How do you think it went?” 

Enjolras huffed. “Stop redirecting questions, I’m serious.”

“Well, I hated it.” Courfeyrac was curt, and it started them both. “At least we didn’t, like, murder each other?”

Enjolras nodded, directing his fuming at the table rather than Courfeyrac. The day that his friends could sit peacefully at the same table, he would make a holiday out of it. 

“That wasn’t all,” he nibbled on his lip, not even convinced himself of the forced change of subject. “I want to resume the meetings. I have some ideas for our next dinner...” He hoped that the hinted plea for Courfeyrac’s help was clear enough. Courfeyrac smiled. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to come to me on your knees.” _Good._ “Just tell me when you’re planning to do the first meeting. Maybe I can switch places with Combeferre.”

They both frowned at the same time. Courfeyrac shook his head. “Wait, that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Enjolras asked, confused. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“We made a schedule!” Courfeyrac rushed. “When we, uh, conversed. We agreed to take turns and such.”

Enjolras had a hard time believing it. “You’re _impossible._ ” 

The laugh Courfeyrac gave had a slight touch of madness to it, and Enjolras worried that he _was_ slightly going mad. That both his friends forgot how to be rational. “Enj, what did you expect? Look, it’s been a month-”

“I know,” Enjolras said. “I’ve been here for the whole month, and it’s deliberating!”

For the first time in so many years, Enjolras thought then, he saw Courfeyrac look so grim. “No, you don’t know. And you have no right to complain, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac jabbed his finger at him. “You just- you couldn’t ever know what we’re going through. Have you ever felt anything? Sometimes I have to ask myself if you even have a heart.” 

That hurt and Courfeyrac knew it immediately—his face crumbled. “I’m so sorry, Enj.”

Enjolras turned around, walking out of the kitchen.

“Don’t even bother.”

One the first morning when the freezing cold hit ahead of the winter itself, Enjolras was half asleep at the dinner table. He had not put socks on, having forgotten the late season was long over. Staring at the screen of his laptop, Enjolras rubbed his feet together. It had all become one blurry blob some time ago, all the emails that he had wanted to check, and now he resigned himself to warily check his twitter feed.

Enjolras clicked on the notifications of his personal account. Yesterday, Grantaire sent him a follow request. It made him feel giddy, and he shuddered for a moment. Then accepted it without more thought. 

“Good morning.” Eponine ruffled Enjolras’ hair before taking a seat beside him. He eyed the cup of tea she had in her hands. 

“Hadn’t heard you come in.”

“A ‘good morning, Eponine’ would’ve been more appropriate.” 

Her sarcasm had no way of getting a rise out of Enjolras right now. His eyes were barely open, barely seeing the text he could hardly read. 

“Sometimes I think that we should give you a reversed bedtime. Like, 'No, Enjolras. You can't leave bed yet!' Maybe buy a safety gate as well.”

Enjolras turned away from the screen. “Ha, you really sounded like ‘Ferre for a second.”

He almost missed her easy smile stiffen for a moment. “Maybe you’re in need of our intervention.”

“When did this become an intervention? Because I see no one else around here.” Enjolras gave an exaggerated look around the room for the show. “You two didn’t really think this through.”

“There’s nothing that needs our thinking.”

“So we agree. Now, leave me alone.”

Eponine laughed. “Wow, what’s gotten you so sour on this lovely morning?” 

Enjolras returned his attention to the screen, now slightly annoyed and hitting the arrow key with force. In this moment of his aggressive hyperfixation on his feed—and so much sleep deprivation, to add—Enjolras hadn’t noticed her peering over his shoulder. 

“—like pigs with their intestines all out, yikes.” She stuck out her tongue and dropped back in her seat. “The PETA activists that you follow, honestly...”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, now really focusing on his feed. “I don’t follow any PETA—” There it was, the photo Eponine had mentioned. It was morbid and did nothing good for his empty stomach. Quickly, he looked at the username. “...What the- Shit.”

“What is it?” Eponine shot up again, interest piqued by his sudden distress. 

“Honestly, I don’t know.” The username was anything but decipherable. _Could be a bot,_ Enjolras though, but what did it do in his following list? He checked it, and sure enough, it was there. 

“Could be that someone got hacked.”

Eponine hummed, far more breezy about the whole ordeal. “Are their old tweets deleted? Maybe you can find out who it is, or was.”

Enjolras did. The twenty existing posts didn’t tell him anything more, mostly just pictures similar to the first one. Baby pigs being hung, pigs eating pigs, humans putting party hats on dead pigs… Enjolras had to frown at the unchanging caption in each post: HOW THE GREEDY PIG DIES. It disturbed him more than he wished to let on. 

Then, he saw it. His hazed mind woke up for a moment as he checked the username again. There it was. Between the meaningless array of numbers was JME. _His_ initials. 

Enjolras bristled. 

“Hey, Enj...” Jehan entered before Eponine could continue. Enjolras slapped his laptop shut.

Jehan looked at both of them and pursed his lips. “What are y'all doing?” 

Feeling Eponine’s eyes on him, Enjolras tapped his finger against the underside of the table. _Not now._ Eponine snorted. “I could ask the same of you,” she directed at Jehan. “What time did you come home again last night?”

His hair was in a state of disarray, which Enjolras only noticed now. “I was looking for Javi.”

“Javier is here?” He remembered Jehan having said something about the guy leaving three weeks ago. 

Jehan sighed dreamily. “Yeah, but he left after eating me out-”

“Jehan Prouvaire! There’s no way I wanted to know that!” Eponine gagged, pushing her palms into her eyes. “I met that guy. Now that image is gonna live in my mind forever!”

Enjolras’ head snapped to Eponine. “Wait, you met him? When?”

“At a slam poetry night. R practically dragged me to there.”

Jehan huffed. 

“Hey, nothing against it.” She put her hands up in defence. “It was a lovely night and he was a lovely lad.”

“Well, let me continue my search for this ‘lovely lad’. For now, I say farewell.”

“Grantaire takes you to poetry nights?” Enjolras asked when Jehan’s footsteps quieted down. 

The look Eponine gave him was scrutinizing. He tried to appear nonchalant but she wasn’t having it. “Yes. What’s it to you?”

She was after something, and Enjolras had the itching feeling that Eponine knew more about this than he himself did. Probably why he felt the greatest urge to ask her in the first place. 

Enjolras only shrugged. “Nothing. I was just curious.” He thought about the churning of his stomach at Eponine’s words and mentally shoved the matter away. It annoyed him. 

She didn’t appear convinced at all but it seemed she also lacked the energy to ask further, not at this hour. Tipping her teacup, Eponine stood up and left the table. “Get back to work, busy man.”

Combeferre rubbed his eyes in frustration. “All we need now is to bring our statement to the newspapers. There is no need to organise another dinner party.”

“I want you to look around and say that one more time.” Enjolras frantically gestured to the whole room which was pathetically empty. “We _need_ new members, or we will work ourselves into an outright catastrophe.” 

“There’s no budget to hold another party.” 

“Then get sponsors.” 

Enjolras had no idea how to get through to his friend. Their claimed corner in the Musain had lost half of the crowd since their sister association had decided to leave them. With the victory came a loss of their network, and thus a great part of their fundings as well. He could just about make out Bossuet murmuring to Joly, “Well, if this isn’t just depressing.” 

He ignored it. “Let’s go back to the point where you said you agreed that we need more participants...”

Combeferre leaned on the table, sighing at Enjolras’ glare. _I know we’re not done yet._ “I do agree, and I think everyone in this room does as well-”

“And thus they agree to host a dinner party.”

“ _Enjolras_ !” That shut everyone up well enough. Combeferre was unclenching his fists, but his shoulders still held a lot of tension. “I just can’t understand why it has to be _now._ We have only recently achieved our goal. It’s time to reevaluate and take it easy. Give ourselves some time.”

“We’ve had plenty of time,” said Enjolras bitterly under his breath. “What better time than now to use our achievements to promote our cause? Recruit some freshmen and spread the word.”

“Alright, let’s say this is the best time for recruiting, that the best way to do it is by way of another party. We will be bankrupt by the time the first new member signs up.”

“I will consult our treasurer for that.” Enjolras turned sharply to Joly, who looked shocked for such an abrupt call-out. To his own defeat, Joly shook his head after checking with the data on his laptop. 

“I’ll have to take ‘Ferre’s side here, sorry.”

Enjolras had to put all his efforts to avoid grunting in frustration. In his close-to-eruption state, he caught Jehan’s eyes, who was silently asking if he was alright. And he couldn’t say he was alright at all. They had lost a great deal of their support, had no idea what would come next, and he had yet to talk things through with Courfeyrac, not to mention him receiving those stupid threats. He would have loved to tell Jehan everything about it, but wouldn’t that be a huge downer after what they were already dealing with? 

“Fine. No party, then. There are other events we can organise.”

“The Biscuit baking worked out pretty well last year, right?” Jehan quipped.

“I… suppose it did. But that was for the senior citizen activity afternoon and not a recruiting event.” It had been just their luck that some lovely students who were very interested in what they did had walked by. But Enjolras couldn’t say he warmed up to the idea of enthusing students with baking the same they did with lonely grandparents.

“Give it a hipster twist and they will come.” Clasping his hands together, Jehan directed his attention to him again, eyes twinkling. “Won’t there be an open-market at the uni in a couple of weeks? I’d say, bring the van and we will make the best impression on the whole uni!” 

Enjolras nervously eyed Combeferre but the other nodded, to his relief. “We’d still have to make a reservation for a spot. If our event commissioner can contact the uni and discuss the costs with Joly, then I think we’ll only need to dig up the budget form of last year’s event, and we’re good.”

“Courfeyrac wasn’t here last week nor said anything about coming next week.”

_And just say his fucking name,_ Enjolras didn’t add. The absence of their friend seemed to surprise Combeferre, however. _Has this anything to do with me?_ he seemed to ask, and Enjolras felt like an arsehole for wanting to say ‘yes, there _is_ a chance that the whole reason behind our team falling apart is you.’

He pursed his lips, looking down at the table to recollect himself. 

“Has anyone heard from him?” Combeferre dared to sound a little concerned, and Enjolras was just done with everything for today. 

“Maybe you should talk to him yourself? You two used to be pretty good at that.” 

He glared at his phone screen, ignoring the strained silence that followed. It was about time to wrap things up, so he packed his stuff and made his way outside without any word. 

It was nights like these that Enjolras thought about how he sometimes miscalculated the degree to which he could fuck up. Enjolras lay alone in bed, only realising after an hour that Combeferre was supposed to be here with him. Or beside him. 

A quick message was answered by Combeferre who said that he was over at Eponine’s parents’ house to help her take care of Gavroche. He seemed to do that a lot these days. 

_Me: Tell me if you need something_

_Combeferre: I will_

_Combeferre: Go and enjoy having the bed for yourself alright?_

_Me: Okay_

Enjolras plugged his phone to charge again. _If only we got you a mattress,_ he thought irritatingly as he rolled over to his side. Combeferre’s main concern these days was for Enjolras to have his own space, and so he stayed away most days. 

And most days Enjorlas was totally okay with it because he kept telling himself that this was part of the healing process, wanting to be alone to experience the second gulf of wallowing in sorrow - one boring evening had Enjolras scanning various articles about the psychological journey after a break-up - and Combeferre was the guy to cover it up with an excuse of not wanting to bother others. But Combeferre seemed to have found the comfort he needed with Eponine. 

And here Enjolras thought friends were supposed to tell each other stuff.

The over-analysing only made his brain restless and worsened his self-pity, so Enjolras rolled over to, grab his phone once again and message Courfeyrac. 

_Me: Hey, do you wanna go to get coffee with me tomorrow?_

He waited a couple of minutes, thinking that perhaps Courfeyrac was already asleep. He still couldn’t though, and one thing he hated was restless tossing in his bed, but his other option of working until the wee hours in the morning was definitely not on the table now that everyone had made his sleep schedule a point of their obsession. 

Stretching his legs, Enjolras slipped out of bed to the bathroom. His mind must have been more drowsy than he had thought because he didn’t notice the sliver of light coming from under the bathroom door. This caused him to collide with Grantaire when he grabbed for the handle. 

“You’d say it is fate that brings us together in this dark hallway,” Grantaire grinned at Enjolras’ ludicrous expression, “but that would sound a little too poetic for your standards, wouldn’t it?” 

Enjolras snorted. “I think the kids today call it ‘cringy’.” 

“Why would you say that?” Grantaire stifled his laugh which disappointed Enjolras just a little. He remembered finding the sound pretty intriguing. 

“I don’t know.” This was turning into a kind of déjà vu—keeping themselves tight-lipped because they couldn’t think of anything more to say but not wanting to leave yet. At least Grantaire’s fly was zipped now. 

“Did you have to…?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Not really. I just wanted to get some water.”

For a second, Grantaire’s gaze was fixed on him, as if he was waiting for something. “Okay,” he said at last. “Good night.”

As Grantaire turned around, it was Enjolras’ hand holding his wrist that snapped his gaze back. At this late hour, in this moment of exhaustion, Enjolras remembered something. 

“Montparnasse,” he stated, and swallowed. His curiosity piqued, Grantaire glanced down at the hand still on his wrist, then back up. Enjolras let him go.

“What about him?” Grantaire whispered. 

Enjolras was taken aback by the intense look in Grantaire’s eyes. There was no fear, or anger. He wondered what was going on inside Grantaire’s head instead. 

“Does he know how to hack?” 

He then was taken by the hand, and before he knew it, he was pulled into Grantaire’s room.

“Sorry for that,” Grantaire said sheepishly with his back turned, leaving Enjolras to stand awkwardly in the middle of the dark bedroom.

Enjolras couldn’t make out anything except for basic furniture, like the bed that Grantaire was now crawling across. A stray thought about the bed previously belonging to Combeferre was quickly pushed away. 

“Ah!” Grantaire switched on the bed light. “Sorry for… don’t look at the mess.”

“You keep saying sorry,” Enjolras noted as he sat down on the bed. He hadn’t expected for the whole mattress to dip under his weight, causing him to almost fall over. Grantaire was fast enough to catch his arm before he could plop face down into the sheets. 

“You have a waterbed.”

“Yeah, I’d apologize for forgetting to warn you, but-” Grantaire vaguely gestured with his hands, “wouldn’t want to get on your nerves, right?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Apart from the waterbed, so much else had changed, and Enjolras distantly realised that this wasn’t Combeferre’s room anymore. At all. The green of the walls still peeked from underneath the colossal collection of papers, sketches and posters and photographs that Enjolras had glimpsed the other day. The wooden floor had been covered with so many rugs Enjolras began to question their origin. They looked authentic and must have cost a fortune if Grantaire had bought them all from stores rather than a fleece market. 

“You can really tell that you’re an artist,” Enjolras blurted out without any thought. The way Grantaire glanced at him filled Enjolras with strange embarrassment. Grantaire was looking at him as if he was trying to figure out what that even meant. “The walls,” Enjolras added, trying not to get too flustered. 

“I guess.” He seemed happy enough that it wasn’t about the clothing covering every surface of the room, as if relieved Enjolras wasn’t going for the Messy-so-must-be-Artist stereotype. He cleared his throat. “So, Montparnasse.”

Enjolras was so fascinated, weirdly, by everything around him that he had forgotten about why he was here. He shook himself out of it and forced himself to look at Grantaire. “Yes. How much do you know about him?” 

Had he already gone too far with this? That one night taught Enjolras that the two weren’t anything close to friends. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t curious, however. 

“A bit of a broad question, don’t you think? I know that he’s got a pretentious-as-shit haircut and that he spends way too much on his clothing for a normal student, but you probably already knew that.” His tone wasn’t nervous, contrary to Enjolras’ expectations, and instead was sure, unwavering. He had never heard Grantaire sound like that. 

“What does he do?” Enjolras pushed further. 

“He does a lot of things.”

“Don’t play with me.”

Grantaire chuckled, and leaned back against the pillows, away from Enjolras’ glare. “You mentioned something about hacking, didn’t you? I’m sorry to tell you, but I’ve never seen Montparnasse come even close to a computer.” 

He must have seen him multiple times, then, if he was confident enough to say that he knew Montparnasse that way. Shit, what kind of business did Grantaire have with Montparnasse? 

“I don’t know if Montparnasse knows shit about hacking,” Grantaire repeated. The look in his eyes made Enjolras shiver. 

“But I know that Claquesous does.” 

He had arrived ten minutes early at the café Rohen, a small place near the campus where the coffee was good _and_ cheap. Staring out of the window at nothing in particular, Enjolras realised he had been nervously stroking his own thumb for some time now. 

Courfeyrac’s last message read that he would “ _b there in a couple of minutes <33 _ ” sent immediately after his seminar had ended. It _had_ been a couple of minutes now, and Enjolras was nervous about meeting his friend. 

After Enjolras politely declined the waitress’ offer of a drink, the front door opened to let in the cool air.

“You could’ve just ordered for me,” Courfeyrac mused as he sat down. “It’s not like I’m very adventurous with coffee. For the rest of me, however...”

Enjolras huffed out a chuckle. “I didn’t want to give you a cold drink.”

“I said I’d be here in a few minutes, didn’t I?”

“With you, so much can happen in a few minutes. Like getting distracted and staying for another hour.”

“As if.”

They signed for the waitress who was still as kind as she had been with Enjolras earlier. After they ordered, Courfeyrac tapped at the tabletop for a while. It unnerved Enjolras greatly. 

“You wanted to talk about something,” Courfeyrac said, at last, thanking the waitress for their coffees. “That’s what I assumed, at least.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Courfeyrac leaned back in his chair, not letting Enjolras avoid his gaze. “What did you want to tell me?”

Enjolras hoped to come across as nonchalant as he sipped his coffee but Courfeyrac’s face was only growing more concerned. “About that… argument we had,” Enjolras started. 

“Oh my- shit, Enj. I do apologise for that, like, a huge apology! I shouldn’t have been such an arse.” He shook his head. “I was way too harsh on you. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was going for.”

The mild confusion in Courfeyrac’s expression was suddenly very relatable. “You think I’d ask you to see me so I could fish for apologies?”

“I mean, it’s not exactly what I thought...” Courfeyrac made a peculiar gesture with his hand, then turned apologetic again. “But I prepared for it?”

“There’s no way I would do that.”

Had he ever done that? Hurt by the thought, Enjolras was now racking through his brain to remember a moment in which he had pushed for an apology. The action sounded like him, fit him even, didn’t it. 

This meetup was turning sour real fast. 

“I wanted to apologize myself,” Enjolras started, his smile false. “I didn’t think about you or ‘Ferre or the whole ordeal of… dealing with this. If you need time, then so be it. And I should not, in any way, be an arsehole about it.”

Courfeyrac clasped Enjolras’ sweaty hands in his, not seeming to mind it at all. “You beautiful soul. Of course I’ll forgive you.” He chuckled. “Shit, I sound like Jehan.”

They were breezing past this whole thing then. Enjolras had planned to ask how the two of them were faring, Courfeyrac and Combeferre. He wanted to know, without joking evasions, wanted to know how it was for real. Yet, Courfeyrac had seen through it and was not going to give him anything.

“Yes, maybe a little,” Enjolras said instead because he was a coward and also wished to have his friend back at their sad excuse for meetings. 

“I want to say sorry again, though. I was too harsh on you.”

“Too harsh won’t even cut it.”

Courfeyrac sputtered in bewilderment. “You’re not supposed to kind of agree with me! I’m asking for forgiveness here.”

“You were basically asking for it. No hard feelings.” He checked with Courfeyrac one more time, swallowing. “We miss having you around. _I_ miss having you around. It’s so quiet most of the time, and without you, we can’t even pray to get anything done.”

“Ohh, I see. You just want me for my beautiful networks.” 

“You can think of it as anything you like.” Courfeyrac’s words left his stomach churning. “But it would be really good to see you again.”

It would be. Enjolras told himself that. His brain was working in overdrive now at the idea of having to rewrite every schedule to fit the absences. It could be months before their meetings would have both Combeferre and Courfeyrac in it. _But we don’t have months,_ Enjolras pondered, rubbing his thumb again. 

“Hey, by the way,” Courfeyrac’s gentle tone got him out of his reverie. “What have you been up to lately?”

Enjolras frowned, suspicious. “Nothing much. Why?” 

“Why? You’ve been on edge for some time now- I mean, more than usual-” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I wanted to ask you earlier, but… y’know.” Again. Courfeyrac looked at him apologetically. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

_“Claquesous?” Enjolras didn’t like the thought that Grantaire was connected with Montparnasse but now there was Claquesous as well?_

_Grantaire ignored him. “But if you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to know all this?”_

_Another thing Enjolras hadn’t expected. Grantaire rolled himself on his side, hand propping up his head. His eyes cut right through him. It made Enjolras repeat the question to himself. It had been an impulse to ask Grantaire about it, and only now it dawned upon him that maybe the whole threatening situation had actually been bothering him. And Grantaire had been the only one to really ask him._

_“I’ve been hacked, I think,” he started. “On Twitter. A couple of days ago I found a bot in my following list, and I have no idea how it got there.” He was rambling, realising that he might need to shut up because this wasn’t Courfeyrac or Combeferre he was talking to. He was talking to Grantaire, who had not signed up for this._

_“It’s sending me threats.”_

_There was a pause after that. He didn’t dare to look at Grantaire, afraid of showing that he actually cared. And that Grantaire might judge him for it._

_“It’s not all that bad. Maybe it’s just trolling because the posts they keep sending don’t mean shit.” He chuckled weakly and then felt fingers under his chin, pushing his face up._

_The hand disappeared as fast as it came, Grantaire murmuring an apology, but the concern was still there. “That’s not something to laugh about.”_

_Half of Enjolras’ mind was still stuck at the touch. “I know, I just- it’s weird for me to tell you this, isn’t it?”_

_“Not at all. Do you think so?”_

Enjolras swallowed, then laughed. It sounded hollow. “Nothing at all.”

There was the humid, drizzly cold that accompanied this job which Enjolras hated so much. He walked the neighbourhood's dogs late at night, and without the sunlight, the air had gotten horribly cold in the worst way possible.

One block more, and then it would be done. The apartments already appeared on the horizon, and Enjolras was able to imagine the toasty warmth of their own house where gloves weren’t needed. Gloves that he had forgotten to bring with him. 

_Suck it all,_ he thought as Lily kept pulling on the leash to tug him in the wrong direction. 

There was another dog walker at the end of the street, talking to someone in the porchway. They were still far away but caught Enjolras’ attention enough to make him stop for a moment and stare not too cleverly. 

He knew that guy. 

It wasn’t long before the man on the porch took his dog and headed inside. Enjolras saw the now-dogless walker stuff his hands in his coat: gloveless as well. He wasn’t taking his departure yet, just hanging around on the pavement. Enjolras decided to walk over to him. 

“Hey, you’re R’s friend,” the guy said when he noticed Enjolras. “From that party.”

It took a couple of seconds for Enjolras to connect a name with the scruffy-looking guy. Thinking back to Montparnasse—and he tried not to grimace at it—but then it clicked.

“Feuilly, right?”

The other grinned. “So you do remember! You’d pretty much disappeared for the night, mate.”

“Right.” He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly unsure of what to do. “You walk dogs here too?” 

“Yeah, I guess we work for the same guy.”

Enjolras frowned at the low chuckle but said nothing about it. Then, the chilly ache in his hands reminded him again to get them out of this morbid cold.

Feuilly glanced down at his trembling hands, exposed skin scraping against the leashes, and waved in a vague direction. “Which way are you headed?”

“Just the apartment block at the end of this street.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

For all Enjolras knew, Grantaire could be friends with some serious psychopaths, but Feuilly’s frame looked so laid-back that he could hardly be called dangerous. No one threatening kept such an unmaintained fringe. He even had to ask himself if that was even supposed to be a fringe. 

“Of course not.” 

Enjolras noticed that Feuilly had longer legs and wider steps when they walked. Since staring at the guy’s feet in wonder would be deemed weird, he tried to dig for some subject to talk about. Grantaire hadn’t given him a lot of information on his friends, and as Feuilly had already pointed out- to his own, brittle shame- they hadn’t seen each other since their brief meeting in the kitchen. 

“You live nearby?” was the best thing he could come up with now. Enjolras forced himself to not physically cringe. 

The laugh was louder than the first one. “I wish. I got this job because a friend recommended me.”

Enjolras could only nod at that and ask lamely: “Where do you come from, then?”

“Heart of Tower Hamlets.”

“Tower Hamlets?!”

“You shouldn’t be the one who’s surprised! It’s bonkers that you kids can live in this area.”

Enjolras knew that fully well. His ears turned red from shame, something that Feuilly seemed to notice. 

“Don’t feel ashamed or anything. Some of us just get a little luckier than others.”

“But that doesn't make it fair!” Enjolras defended, not even knowing why it upset him to this degree. Feuilly was only smiling kindly, after all. 

“I’m not saying that I’m accepting it, though sometimes I wish I could.”

“You shouldn’t!” The little Miffy cowered at the volume of his voice, and Enjolras rolled his eyes at the dogs, continuing in a low tone. “You should be angry.”

Feuilly grinned. “Fuckin’ right I am.”

They made it to the porch, and Enjolras had to mentally flick himself on the head when he realised how quickly time had passed. This might have been one of the more painful moments in his life. 

Feuilly nodded at the building. “I’ll wait outside.”

“You don’t have to.” Because it was fucking freezing outside, and Feuilly hadn’t brought gloves either. Only there was also a part of Enjolras that had the urge to ask the man more about, well, anything he might have an opinion on. “I’ll be quick,” he added at last and dragged the dogs with him. 

Feuilly had indeed waited. Enjolras found him exactly where he had left him, the light of his phone screen illuminating his face, his knitted eyebrows.

“Hey.” The face Feuilly gave him wasn’t very promising either. “I’m going that way. And you’re that way, right?” He pointed at two different streets. 

“Oh, yeah.” Finding himself a little taken aback, Enjolras hesitated. “I guess I’ll see you around with the dogs?”

“Wouldn’t we all want that.” It came out as a murmur, but Enjolras still caught it. 

“What?”

Enjolras noticed only now that the man looked like the definition of exhaustion; his stance was fatigued rather than relaxed. The bags under his eyes didn’t help his case either. 

Feuilly dragged a hand over his face, contemplative, then decided on something. “Look, I’m not one to rant to strangers on the street but you seem like an alright guy, so I’m gonna do it anyway.” 

“I’m not a stranger.”

“Whatever.” He then held his phone in front of Enjolras’ face for a clearer view. “Boss says he has to let me go. Reasoning being, he’s got a decline in clients so he has no need for so many employees.” 

Enjolras squinted at the words from their employer.

“He’s talking right out of his arse,” Feuilly concluded, and Enjolras almost expected him to start ripping his hair out in frustration.

“That’s… shit,” is what he managed to get out, mentally hitting himself because it was possibly nothing near to what the shaken guy needed right now. “Wasn’t there a new kid- what’s his name?”

“Yeah! He recruited that new kid so everything he says about less work is total shite!”

Someone in the street slammed a window shut, shushing them. “He just hates my guts.” With that, Feuilly vaguely gestures at himself. It filled Enjolras with sudden hot fury. 

Feuilly seemed to notice, chuckling at Enjolras and burying his hands deeper into his coat. “Hey, sorry for being such a whiny bitch. This isn’t your shit to worry about.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about it.”

His eyes softened. “You’re a good guy, y’know?”

“I try.” Enjolras’ face was flaring by now, making him feel hot even in the bitter cold. “Is there any other way I could help?” 

“D’you have another job lying around somewhere?”

Enjolras was ready to ask about it, but Feuilly’s worn coat and sneakers were explanation enough: either he really needed this job or he consciously chose to dress like his budget was non-existent. 

Now resolute, Enjolras took his phone out and opened his email, typing with sheer determination. 

“Here.” He showed Feuilly what he had sent. “If his problem is that he has too many employees, then I’ll quit.” Enjolras had already done it, to his own stupid amazement. 

“You’re fucking bonkers.” 

“Just tell him that you’ll be staying. You haven’t replied yet, right?” 

Feuilly shook his head out of disbelief rather than answering the question.

“Then you can still argue with him for your place. You have all the reasons to back it up.”

Enjolras was familiar, and could even deal comfortably with silences like these. But the brooding look that Feuilly still had on his face made his mind itch the way it always did when he tended to overthink. He actually liked this job, and earning his own money was nice. Most places didn’t even want him. 

“I’ll say it again, you’re absolutely mad.” Feuilly’s lips were pressed together, but it was likely to hold back his grin. “Just so you know, I’m gonna mention your deviant little tricks.”

“Tell him I’m crazy, and he’ll never want to speak to me again.”

“God.” Feuilly was rubbing his chin in thought.

Considering that he could have been wrong, Enjolras tried to hastily come up with excuses to write to their boss, because he actually really liked his job. Say it was his roommate who thought it had been a funny prank to pull off. 

“I guess I’ll have to go home then,” Feuilly said. Enjolras looked up at him in a daze. “I’ve got an email to write and I’ll be damned if I blow my chances by half-arsing this thing in the middle of the street. You go get warm too.”

“I will.” Enjolras took a step back, reluctant to look away from the crooked grin that felt so familiar. “Bye, then.” 

He felt a touch on his arm before he could turn around.

“I meant what I said. You’re mad, but you’re a good guy.” From under his eyebrows, Feuilly watched him with an intense look. So much so that Enjolras started shaking against his grip. “It’s not that I’ve got much, but if you need anything, ever...”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” 

“Sure.”

And then he was crossing the street with a parting wave and leaving Enjolras behind. Suddenly Enjolras remembered something. 

“Wait! There _is_ something you could do for me!”

If he hadn’t been so embarrassed, Enjolras would have sworn he saw Feuilly’s eyes twinkle at the mention of a favour. “Tell me.” 

“Would you want to join a dining club?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend there are dog-walker companies and that stuff doesn't only happen on free-lance basis. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)  
> ~N

**Author's Note:**

> Here an excel sheet with artists for you to check out! Credits to the creator and the many contributors. You can add names to it if you want to:  
> [Link](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1OIUBp4kFxmpWJihhq6WLwJQR1Am4DsD59bEYlJZxeGY/htmlview?pru=AAABcqlhgbU*QMZVFzl75l99oKtQJx9v9A#gid=0)
> 
> Then, a masterpost about Tab for a Cause, which really explains how this works. Basically, you get advertisements every time you open a tab, and the revenue goes to NAACP Legal Defense Fund. More about this is explained in the post:  
> [Link](https://spectralheartt.tumblr.com/post/619867382232596480/if-youre-short-on-cash-heres-another-way-to)
> 
> I'll be back soon!


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